


Warmth

by wayleska (princenarry)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Cute, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princenarry/pseuds/wayleska
Summary: Boarding School AU. Bruce is a socially awkward rich boy, and always has been, preferring to keep to himself seems a miracle that his roommates, Edward and Lucius even like him. He expects roughly the same thing every year from Gotham Academy, focusing on homework and fending off the bullying of Butch, Oswald, and Sal. What he didn't expect was to develop protective instincts and maybe a crush on the new kid, Jeremiah Valeska, who's too forgiving for his own good.





	Warmth

The first day back at school is always a mess; cars, kids, parents, bags, and boxes everywhere, while harried RAs run around trying to get everyone sorted into the right dorm with a minimum amount of fuss, gritting their teeth already because they know it'll be another year of this. Some kids are already in their uniforms, probably freshmen, the knitted black vests surely hot in the late August heat wave, their faces flushed and necks sweaty above the collars of their light blue shirts. Bruce's uniform is at the bottom of his bag and he won't put it on until he absolutely has to. 

Bruce has his mom drop him off at the gate, standing awkwardly to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans while she pulls his bags from the trunk. Last year she  _ insisted _ on escorting him to his room. He hopes the fact that he made her stop in a  _ No Parking _ zone will prevent any such nonsense this year. 

"I think that's everything," she says, dumping the second bag at Bruce's feet. "Are you going to be okay from here?"

"Yes," Bruce says quickly, "Absolutely. I'm good." 

She smirks as if she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Be good this year," she tells him, pulling him into a hard hug. "If I never have to talk to Principal Bullock again it will be too soon." 

"Of course," Bruce mutters, rocking back on his heels. 

She smiles and ruffles his hair. "Oh, there's Lucius," she says, lifting her hand in a wave. 

Bruce cranes his neck to find Lucius picking his way through the crowd, as handsome as ever. The sun warm on his dark skin bringing a shine to his cheeks, and when Bruce turns back to his mom she looks smitten.

"Mrs. Wayne," Lucius says politely. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Martha?" She asks, smiling. "It's nice to see you again, Lucius."

Bruce rolls his eyes when they shake hands. If polite was a subject Lucius would get straight A's. (He gets straight A's anyway, but that's beside the point.)

"Got your keys," Lucius says, grabbing Bruce's hand in the complicated handshake they spent three weeks perfecting during freshman year. 

Bruce nods. "Is Edward here yet?" 

A deafening shout of "BRUCEEEY" answers that question and Bruce turns around to find Edward running towards them with his arms outstretched. Bruce considers side-stepping but he probably doesn't want Edward to run face-first into his mom's car, so he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets instead, sliding one foot back to brace himself. 

Edward hits him square in the chest, wrapping his arms hard around Bruce's torso. "Brucey," he says. "Did you miss me? You did, didn't you? You missed me. Lucy did. He said so." 

Bruce gives Lucius a disappointed look. "You let him have coffee?"

"I'm not his keeper," Lucius says quickly. "And… uh… he arrived like that." 

Edward lets Bruce go and takes half a step back. "Martha," he says. "You look lovely as always." 

Bruce's mom laughs and ruffles Edward's hair and Bruce's chest feels a little funny. Maybe he's happy to be back after all. 

\--

"The Mob Brothers are back," Edward says as they make their way across campus. "I think they grew." 

"Awesome," Bruce mutters, looking around for their familiar shaved heads. He doesn't spot them, but he does see Selina Kyle across the yard. She's talking to her friend Tabitha, a mess of bags at her feet, and he looks away quickly, pretending he didn't see her at all. 

"Oh, there's Oswald," Edward says, crinkling his nose, "And his goons."

Bruce's jaw tightens; Sal and Butch are not his favorite people. As captains of the boy's football team and descendants of a family of means, they think they are the school kings and no one dares to challenge them. Gotham Academy has a very strict policy against bullying, but it's easy to get away with it if you're popular, and the two are virtually untouchable. 

Freshman year Bruce went a few rounds against them – while Bruce might not be a physical threat, a few mysteriously lost essays and missing grades taught them to not mess with him. He's not exactly their favorite person since then, but he easily thwarted Oswald's lame attempts at hacking his computer, and they've been locked in a stalemate ever since. 

Bruce knows they could easily beat the shit out of him and they know Bruce could easily erase their entire online record. It's not ideal, but it works. 

"Any new contenders?" Bruce asks. 

Every year the school tries to put someone new into their room and every year Bruce makes sure they put in for a transfer within days.

He's not a bully, but he's also not always a nice person, and he hardly thinks he is to blame for the fact that people don't get his sense of humor. 

"There's only one new guy on our floor," Lucius says, shaking his head. "A transfer from Kansas City, I think. They put him in with the Mob Brothers and Oswald." 

"Well, that's going to end well," Bruce says dryly.

\--

Jeremiah Valeska, the new guy, turns out to be the perfect victim. He's soft-spoken and almost painfully polite, his every breath seemingly an excuse for his very existence. It's apparent within days that the Mob Brothers are making his life a living hell but it's just as apparent that he's not going to file a complaint, or do anything, really, but let them push him around. 

He's in a lot of Bruce's classes, sitting up front, seemingly soaking up the teacher's words like a sponge.

Bruce doesn't really notice him at first, maybe because Jeremiah makes a point out of not being noticed, or maybe because Bruce isn't the most observant guy, but within a week he finds his eyes drawn to Jeremiah's face with unnerving regularity. It's almost like last year when his eyes kept getting stuck on Selina's jawline, but it's different too, inexplicable, and Bruce doesn't like things he can't explain. 

\--

"I don't like the new guy," he remarks one night, looking up from his laptop for long enough to gauge Lucius's and Edward's reactions. 

"Jeremiah?" Lucius's eyebrows shoot up. "Why not?"

"Just what the poor guy needs," Edward mutters, throwing his textbook aside, "Another person in his anti-club." 

"Anti-club is not a word," Bruce says. "And I don't know." 

The thing is, he isn't sure he doesn't like Jeremiah. He has  _ feelings _ about Jeremiah and he doesn't like that. Sometimes at night, he finds himself straining his ears, as if he'll somehow be able to hear if the Mob Brothers are being mean to him through the wall, but the only thing he ever hears is Edward jerking off. 

It doesn't make sense, Bruce isn't the protective type, at least not over random people, and Jeremiah’s never even said a word to him. Bruce tried talking to him once, but Jeremiah just looked at him with his huge stupid eyes behind his glasses and Bruce walked away with a weird feeling at the pit of his stomach that he didn't care to examine further because he doesn't care… about Jeremiah. 

"He's cute," Lucius says, folding his hands under his head. "I wonder what team he bats for." 

Bruce's stomach knots. "Don't…" he starts, but he cuts himself off because he doesn't know where that sentence ends. 

Lucius turns to look at him, eyes narrowed in that unnerving way that means he's going to say something Bruce doesn't like. "Don't what?"

Bruce shrugs and focuses very intently on his screen. The dorm Wi-Fi will cut out in thirty minutes and people are still wrong on the internet. He types up a lengthy comment and posts it, before he looks up again, only to find that Lucius is still watching him. 

"What?" he asks angrily. 

His cheeks feel warm and he wonders if they turned the heat up; usually they keep the temperature at arctic levels.

"Nothing," Lucius says, smirking in an annoying way, "Nothing at all." 

\--

Maybe a week later a slight commotion in the corridor wakes Bruce, always a light sleeper. There's the sound of hushed voices, one angry and one pleading and then a door slams shut. 

The sound makes his heart jump, pulse speeding up, and when he strains his ears to hear over the sound of Lucius's and Edward's mingled breaths and occasional snores, something tells him someone's still in the hall. 

Nothing happens and he's almost asleep again when he hears a soft knock, not on their door, but as if someone is knocking on the next door over. His heart jumps again and this time he slips out of bed, sneaking across the floor to press his ear to the door like a creeper. Someone is still out there for sure and without giving himself time to think about it he unlocks the door and pulls it open. 

Jeremiah is sitting with his back to the Mob Brothers' and Oswald's door, skinny legs pulled up and his forehead pressed against his bony knees. He doesn't notice Bruce watching him, too wrapped up in his own misery. The sight makes Bruce inexplicably angry, fists clenching at his sides. Is it too much to fucking ask for Jeremiah to grow a fucking backbone? 

"What are you doing?" he hisses. 

Jeremiah jumps, whipping his head around, and his mouth opens and closes without any sound coming out, cheeks flushing a dark crimson. "Sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to… I…"

"Shut the fuck up," Bruce mutters. He's not going to listen to Jeremiah apologizing for the fucking Mob Brothers. "And get in here. Those assholes aren't going to let you in and you can't sleep in the hall." 

He steps back to hold the door open and Jeremiah only hesitates for a moment before he climbs to his feet. His arms are covered in goosebumps, Bruce notices, and for the first time in his life, he seriously contemplates murder. 

"I'm sorry," Jeremiah whispers again when he slips through the crack in the door, stopping awkwardly in the middle of the floor when Bruce shuts it, cutting off the light that falls in from the hallway. 

Bruce huffs, reaching out to curl his hand around Jeremiah's elbow, leading him over to the unoccupied bed. Jeremiah's skin is cold to the touch and Bruce entertains a brief but fulfilling fantasy of running the Mob Brothers through with a sharp blade. 

"Stop apologizing," he hisses, fumbling across the bed until he finds a corner of the comforter and can pull it aside. "And go to sleep." 

He waits until Jeremiah has climbed into the bed before he returns to his own, pulling the covers up to his ears to avoid the inevitable sound of Jeremiah breathing; except Jeremiah doesn't seem to be breathing because there's only silence coming from his corner of the room. 

"You're allowed to breathe, you know," he says curtly. 

Jeremiah doesn't answer, but within moments Bruce can hear the soft, too-fast pattern of his breaths as if he's been holding them in for too long. Bruce grumbles and turns over on his other side, and resolutely does not think about Jeremiah in the Mob Brothers’ room trying to pretend he doesn't exist, because for all he knows they've been feasting on tea and cookies having a jolly old time every night until this one. 

He turns over again, glaring daggers in the general direction of Jeremiah's bed. "You can put in for a transfer," he says angrily. "Your general presence probably won't annoy me too much."

He huffs and pulls the pillows over his head, angry with the world at large. Everything about Jeremiah is so inexplicable and stupid. Bruce doesn't like it one bit. 

\--

Bruce wakes up to a hand shaking his shoulder. 

"What?" he mumbles, trying to burrow deeper into the pillows.

"Bruce," Lucius whispers urgently. " _ Bruce. _ "

"Is the building on fire?" Bruce asks into his mound of pillows. 

"No, but…"

"Then I don't care."

Lucius's fingers dig in harder. " _ Bruce _ ."

Bruce growls low in his throat but he flops over on his back. " _ What? _ " 

Lucius makes huge eyes at him and gestures towards the corner. Bruce blinks and slowly turns his head. Oh. 

"He was in the hallway," Bruce says. 

Lucius's eyes grow two sizes and he does something complicated with his mouth. Bruce stares at the too-small lump under the covers, a barely-there rise; if it weren't for the tuft of red hair sticking out Bruce would think that Jeremiah had left already. Even in his sleep, Jeremiah manages to be apologetic. 

"I couldn't leave him in the hallway," Bruce mutters. 

Lucius’s face softens. "Okay," he says and that's that. 

\--

The next time Bruce wakes up Jeremiah is gone.

"He took off like a thief in the night," Edward says when Bruce sits up. "I didn't even get to say hello."

"Hmm," Bruce says, staring at the neatly made bed. 

\--

Bruce doesn't see Jeremiah again until his last class of the day, a social science elective. Jeremiah sits up front as usual while Bruce slouches in the back, scribbling down random notes occasionally that won't make the slightest lick of sense to him in the morning. 

Jeremiah seems twitchy somehow, not paying his usual rapt attention, and as soon as class lets out for the day he gathers his things in a haphazard mess and clutches them to his chest rather than taking the time to put them into his bag. He's probably trying to avoid Bruce. Bruce will have none of that. 

"You're not going to put in for a transfer, are you?" Bruce asks, sneaking up behind Jeremiah. He can be really fast when he wants to; no one ever expects that of him. 

Jeremiah startles so hard he drops his books. Bruce watches him pick them up, noting that even the back of Jeremiah's neck can blush. 

"Are you?" Bruce repeats. 

"No," Jeremiah answers, barely more than a breath. 

Bruce sighs. "Why not?" 

He thinks it's a valid question. Bruce might be a bit prickly and Edward is insane but Lucius is an actual nice person, and even if they were jerks they'd still be better people than the Mob Brothers. Bruce would never make anyone spend their night awkwardly crouching in the hall. 

Jeremiah straightens up, the books once again clutched to his chest. He doesn't answer but his eyes are full of desperation as if maybe he wants  _ Bruce _ to say something. It's a novelty; people usually don't want Bruce to talk to them. 

It takes Bruce maybe thirty seconds of staring into Jeremiah's unnecessarily large eyes to figure it out. "You can't, can you?" 

Jeremiah ducks his chin. "My mom…" he starts, but cuts himself off immediately, "Sal and Butch are the right kinds of people," he says instead, voice dull. 

Bruce wants to pretend he doesn't understand, but he does, of course, he does; Sal and Butch are from mob families, one that can get anything because they’re not afraid to break the law, and they have as much money as Bruce and get away with it. And to some people, dirty money is better than earned.

Being their friend, their accomplice might pay off in the future, and that is why people turn a blind eye to the Jeremiah’s of the school, pretending they can't see the way they're climbing the walls to get away. 

Jeremiah's mom is obviously a bitch, but Bruce doesn't say that. Instead, he says, "Huh," and at the back of his mind he starts working on a solution. 

Bruce knows that he will be great one day too. He has the mind and talent for it and he's more than willing to put in the work. He will build his own fortune, on top of families, and he  _ will _ reward his friends when he gets there. But it still wouldn’t be the right kind of money and reputation, the kind that can break through all walls.

Jeremiah looks down, shifting his feet. "I better get going," he says, inching backward. "But… uh… thanks." 

Bruce watches him leave, head held high, and wonders how long it will take for the Mob Brothers to break him. 

"Is everything okay?" Mr. Gordon asks, from where he's wiping the whiteboard clean. 

Bruce likes Mr. Gordon, he doesn't ask stupid questions or try to pretend he understands "what they are going through". It probably helps that Mr. Gordon isn't fully into his thirties and kind of nice to look at.

"Not really," Bruce says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But I doubt that you can help." 

Mr. Gordon smiles, he often seems amused by Bruce, but it's okay because it's not a condescending amusement.

"If you ever reach a point where you think I might be of assistance with your problem, don't hesitate to knock on my door," he says. 

"Sure," Bruce responds. 

\--

The problem niggles at Bruce. It's a constant low-level annoyance, made worse by the fact that Jeremiah becomes paler and paler within the span of the next two weeks. He looks deathly ill, but Bruce is willing to bet he's just exhausted; the bags under his eyes are large enough to hold Bruce's entire wardrobe. 

During those two weeks, Jeremiah stays over twice in the Riddle Suite (Edward's name for their room that stuck like the question mark sticker on Bruce's laptop – and he's still pissed about that  _ thank you very much _ ), but he's always gone before Bruce wakes up. 

"I could set their room on fire," Bruce says thoughtfully. "They'd have to move then." 

Lucius stares at him long and hard. "No," he says. 

"But…"

" _ No. _ " 

"You should romance him into our room," Edward says. "With kisses and hugs and naughty touching." 

" _ No _ ," Bruce says. 

"I bet  _ Lucius _ would love to romance him…" Edward's face is the very picture of innocence. 

"I could set  _ you _ on fire," Bruce mutters. 

" _ No _ ," Lucius says. 

It's something of a status quo. 

\--

The problem with Bruce's problem, he eventually realizes, is that it has no solution because the problem isn't the problem, the conclusion is. Every possible scenario ends with Jeremiah moving into the Riddle suite – because that's Bruce's endgame, Jeremiah needs to be saved for his own good – but Jeremiah moving into the Riddle suite basically means that he failed. It's infuriating. 

"We could kidnap him," Edward suggests. "That way it wouldn't be his fault."

"We basically tried that," Lucius points out. "He made the bed and left." 

"Arson is still an option," Bruce says darkly. 

" _ NO _ ," Lucius says. 

\--

Jeremiah stops paying attention in class. He still sits up front and stares straight ahead, but if the teacher asks him a question they have to repeat it three times to even get his attention and he never knows the answer. It's depressing to watch. 

Bruce takes to sitting next to him, and on the rare occasions they watch a movie in class, Jeremiah will slump into him, fast asleep the moment the lights go out. It's uncomfortable, Jeremiah is taller than Bruce and seemingly made out of nothing but sharp angles, but for the duration of whatever movie they're watching Bruce will barely breathe, and he won't move, even when Jeremiah's hair tickles his neck. 

One of those rare occasions happens in Mr. Gordon's class and for once Jeremiah doesn't wake up with the lights. He's still asleep with his head on Bruce's shoulder, mouth open and hands loosely clasped on his lap, when Mr. Gordon dismisses the rest of the class. Bruce sits eerily still; Jeremiah obviously needs every second of undisturbed sleep he can get. 

"I take it you haven't solved your problem," Mr. Gordon says when the rest of the students have left, nodding towards Jeremiah. 

"My problem doesn't have a solution," Bruce says curtly. 

"Want to tell me about it?" 

"No." 

Mr. Gordon nods. "I'll see what I can do," he says as if Bruce spelled his problem out in bold letters. 

Bruce glances down at Jeremiah's bony wrists, sticking out of his regulation blue shirt and thinks that maybe he didn't have to say anything; maybe Jeremiah's appearance speaks for itself. It hurts his stomach a little to think about it, so he doesn't. 

\--

Two days later, on a Friday evening, Jeremiah moves into the Riddle Suite and the Mob Brothers into the corner triple they always coveted. Bruce has no idea how Mr. Gordon did it, but Future Bruce will certainly remember to reward him. Present Day Bruce will settle for curt thanks the next time he sees him in class. 

Jeremiah doesn't talk while he unpacks his things, carefully sorting shirts and underwear into the dresser and hanging everything else in the wardrobe. They all pretend they don't notice the slight tremble to his hands or the way he moves as if he's about to keel over any second. 

When Jeremiah's done he pushes his bag in under the bed and sits down gingerly on the edge of it, eyes flitting quickly about the room. Then his cheeks color and he jumps up, riffling through the dresser for a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He grabs a towel and his toiletry bag from the closet and says something about a shower under his breath. 

"Don't slip," Bruce mutters, the words sneaking out unbidden. 

The corners of Jeremiah's mouth curl slightly. "I'll try not to," he says, ducking his chin. 

Edward saves his annoying cackle for when the door has fallen closed behind Jeremiah, pointing his finger at Bruce and making high-pitched noises of glee. Lucius just smiles. 

"Shut  _ up _ ," Bruce grumbles and goes back to the computer. 

\--

The first few days are tense because Jeremiah won't speak unless spoken to, he won't touch anything that isn't his without explicit consent, and he jumps a mile if anyone happens to touch  _ him _ . If it'd just been Bruce and Jeremiah, this would probably have continued until the end of time, because Bruce doesn't know shit about fixing people, and Jeremiah sleeps now so Bruce's mission is more or less accomplished. 

Luckily, it isn't up to Bruce, and Lucius and Edward are both effortlessly social, and within a week they've cracked Jeremiah's outer defenses and bridged the moat. This, of course, means that the noise level in the suite goes up a notch, one of the things that made Bruce oppose a fourth roommate, to begin with, but he finds that it's hard to mind when it's Jeremiah. 

One Friday after class Bruce walks in to find all three of them on Edward's bed, watching something on Lucius's computer. Jeremiah is the only one that looks up. 

"Hey Bruce," he says, lips curling into a shy smile. 

"Miah," Bruce says because Jeremiah is a mouthful and he doesn't like Jerry. 

Jeremiah's cheeks color and he drops his gaze. Bruce wonders if maybe Miah is some kind of insult where he comes from, but then Jeremiah's eyes dart up again and he bites on his lower lip and Bruce thinks that it probably isn't. 

"This is going to get old really fast," Lucius mutters, without even looking up. Bruce has no idea what he's talking about, but maybe Jeremiah does because his cheeks get even pinker and he ducks his chin for real this time. 

\--

Edward and Lucius like to do things on the weekend, like window shopping, actual shopping or watching a movie. Bruce likes to spend the weekends working on his computer. Jeremiah slept through the first weekend, but Bruce thinks he's the type that likes to do things, and true to form, on Saturday after breakfast he starts gathering his things to go out with Lucius and Edward. 

"You're not coming?" he asks when Bruce makes no move to go with them. 

Bruce glances up from the screen. "No." 

"Oh." Jeremiah fidgets with the strap on his bag. "I could stay if you want." 

When it's just the two of them Jeremiah has taken it upon himself to fill the silence, and it's annoying because Bruce can't stop listening. He pretends that he doesn't, but every damned thing Jeremiah says is noted and filed away for future reference. 

"Please don't," Bruce mutters because he has things to do and only a limited time to do them. 

He looks up in time to catch Jeremiah's slight flinch and Lucius's disappointed look. 

"I'll have lunch," he offers because Jeremiah worries about such things. 

Jeremiah nods and smiles slightly but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Okay," he says. 

\--

True to his word, Bruce does surface in time for lunch, and while he's tempted to just keep going, he puts the computer aside and heads down to the cafeteria. Jeremiah would look so disappointed if he didn't and he will ask, of course, he will. 

Bruce takes his tuna sandwich and Coke to an unoccupied table in the corner, digging in with as much gusto as anyone can devote to soggy bread. He doesn't look up when someone sits down at his table, not until a slim hand reaches across the tabletop and steals his drink. 

"Hey," he says, looking up. It's Selina. 

"Hey," she says, lips curling. 

Bruce frowns. He was under the impression that Selina wasn't going to talk to him again, even if he ended up being the last man on earth. 

"That's mine," Bruce says, nodding towards the can in Selina's hand. 

"I know," she says, and drinks from it anyway. 

She puts it back down on his tray and leans forward on her elbows. 

"So," she says, "You and Jeremiah?"

"Me and Jeremiah, what?" 

She smirks. "Oh, you know what I'm talking about." 

Bruce blinks at her and takes another bite from his sandwich. 

"We're friends," he says, shrugging because he likes to think that they are. 

"Just friends?"

"Yes," Bruce says curtly. He's not sure she's insinuating what he thinks she's insinuating, but if she is it's none of her business. 

"But you  _ like _ him," she says, pursing her lips. It's a statement, not a question, and Bruce kind of wants to choke her with his sandwich. He used to like Selina before she broke up with him. She's clever and straightforward and she was always able to see right through his bullshit. Now, not so much. 

"I thought you hated me," he says instead of answering because he doesn't know the answer to that non-question so it doesn't seem fair that Selina should. 

"Hate is a pointless emotion," she says with a shrug. "I was annoyed with you. Now, I'm not."

Bruce hasn't spoken to her since before summer. "Why not?" 

She smirks, reaching across the table to pull on one of his curls. "I always wanted a sassy gay friend," she says. 

The tinkle of her laugh follows Bruce all the way back to the dorm. 

\--

Jeremiah, Lucius, and Edward come back just before curfew, red-nosed and flushed from the bite of autumn cold. Bruce looks up from his screen briefly to note that Jeremiah looks cute in his wool overcoat and with a scarf wrapped around his long neck. 

"Did you have dinner?" Jeremiah asks. 

Bruce frowns. He only made promises about lunch. Jeremiah rolls his eyes and pulls a plastic bag out of his backpack. 

"Here," he says, dumping it next to Bruce on the bed. 

Bruce looks inside; it's a caesar salad, a bottle of Gatorade and a package of Sour Patch Kids. 

"Thanks," he says, pulling the salad out and prying the plastic fork from the lid. 

He glances at Jeremiah again. He has taken his coat off, but the scarf is still wrapped around his neck, dangling its yarn tassels down to his belt. It's almost unbearably cute. Bruce digs into his salad and thinks that while he doesn't know shit about being sassy he's probably pretty gay. 

\--

On Sunday it starts snowing, which is massively unfair and disgusting in every way, it's  _ October _ , damnit, except for Jeremiah's childish and exuberant glee. He spends ten minutes standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his head tilted back and his mouth open, practically vibrating with happiness every time a snowflake lands in his mouth. 

"You're an idiot," Bruce tells him. 

"It's snow," Jeremiah says, turning his head to give Bruce a wide-eyed look of wonder. " _ Snow. _ "

There's snow clumped in his lashes, Bruce notices, already melting into tiny droplets. 

"Yes," Bruce says dryly. "I know." 

Jeremiah giggles, actually giggles, and catches a snowflake on his tongue with a move worthy of a frog. He looks so happy that Bruce can't even be mad at him for being a dork. He just propels Jeremiah forward with a hand at the small of his back until he starts moving on his own. 

It's kind of nice to see him acting like a five-year-old when he's normally so composed, and he hasn't even tried to stuff snow down the front of Bruce's jacket like Edward always does, which certainly counts in his favor. 

"It's beautiful," Jeremiah says, breath rising like mist from his lips. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah," Bruce mutters, but he isn't looking at the snow. 

\-- 

By nightfall, the entire campus is painted white by the wide strokes of a frosty brush. It'll probably be gone by morning, the first snow rarely lasts, but for the time being it's kind of nice to look at, all of the harsh edges rounded by puffy clouds of snow. Jeremiah grabs his phone and heads outside to call home, probably to tell his mom about the snow, and Bruce sits up a little straighter. 

He's not worried, exactly, but Jeremiah has the survival instincts of a newborn deer and the Mob Brothers didn't actually forget about him, they just moved him down on the target list. They will no longer go out of their way to mess with him, but they'll take a cheap shot any time they get the chance. Besides, whenever Jeremiah calls home he ends up talking to his brother too and Bruce doesn't know many things about Jerome but even Bruce can tell that he's a Grade A asshole who treats his brother like shit. 

\--

Half an hour later Bruce is officially worried. Curfew is looming on the horizon and Jeremiah hadn’t even brought a coat. His eyes dart to the door every time he hears a sound out in the corridor, but it's never Jeremiah and it's fucking cold outside, okay? He doesn't move, however, until Lucius looks up from his book and frowns, saying, "He's not back yet?"

"I'll go look for him," Bruce says, too fast, and shoves his laptop to the side. 

Edward snickers. "Bruce Wayne, young billionaire and knight in shining armor," he says with a flourish. 

"Fuck off," Bruce mutters, cheeks heating up, but it doesn't stop his movement towards the door. 

\--

He finds Jeremiah outside, on his knees in the snow, fumbling through the bushes by the door. 

 

"What are you doing?" Bruce asks angrily because Jeremiah looks cold but fine, and he's pissed that Jeremiah made him worry. 

"My keycard," Jeremiah says, looking up with his eyes full of panic. "They threw my keycard… I need to… I have to find it." 

His teeth are practically clacking together and Bruce can see him shivering, even from a distance. He's going to catch his death crawling around in the snow like that. 

"You're being silly," Bruce says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can't see shit down there. Come inside and we'll look for it the morning, okay?" 

It stopped snowing, but the air is still crisp and dry with cold, biting through Bruce's jacket and at his exposed face. 

"I have to find it," Jeremiah mumbles, renewing his struggle with the stiff bushes. "You don't… I never lose my keys. Not after… I don't." 

Bruce presses his lips together and huffs an angry breath through his nose, shuffling down the icy stairs in his socks. Jeremiah doesn't even look up when Bruce crouches down beside him, his trembling fingers fluttering uselessly across the ground. 

"Hey," Bruce says, gentler now, reaching out to clasp Jeremiah's shoulder. "Come on. I'm sure Edward has a flashlight, okay? You're freezing." 

Jeremiah turns his head, eyes the size of saucers and lips blue with cold. "I never lose my keys," he whispers. 

Bruce's stomach clenches and he tugs gently on Jeremiah's shoulder. "Come on," he says again and this time Jeremiah lets himself be pulled to his feet. He sways, shivers wracking his thin frame, and his hands, where they hang limply at his sides, are an angry red and covered in scratches. His eyes stray back toward the bushes, but when Bruce pulls him forward he follows. 

\--

"Jesus Christ," Lucius hisses, when Bruce leads Jeremiah into the room, still with a good grip on his shirt. "What happened?"

"The fucking Mob Brothers threw his keycard into the bushes," Bruce says tightly and he's so angry he doesn't know what to do with himself. "Edward…"

"I'll find it," Edward says quickly, jumping up from his bed and heading straight for his dresser. He pulls out a flashlight (of course he has one) and a pair of gloves before he disappears out the door. 

Jeremiah shudders out a sigh and visibly shakes himself, dislodging Bruce's hand. 

"I'm gonna have a shower," he mumbles, ducking his chin. 

Bruce stays in the middle of the floor, watching as Jeremiah pulls out his pajamas and toiletry bag. He moves slowly as if his joints are still frozen stiff, and he refuses to meet anyone's eyes. He pauses at the door, shoulder hunched and back stiff. 

"Sorry," he mumbles and then he's gone. 

Bruce exchanges a helpless look with Lucius, because he just doesn't know what to do with people when they're not okay, but he needs Jeremiah to be okay. He needs him to smile, and giggle about snow, and mock wrestle with Edward and act like he  _ belongs _ . 

Edward comes back before Jeremiah, just before curfew, triumphantly clutching Jeremiah's keycard in his snowy-gloved hand. 

"Found it," he exclaims, putting it down on Jeremiah's desk with a flourish. 

"Good," Bruce says, movements jerky as he puts away his computer and changes into his pajamas. 

"Where's Miah?" Edward asks. 

"Shower," Bruce says curtly, grabbing his toothbrush. He's still so angry, so helplessly, hopelessly angry, and he doesn't know what to make of that. 

"Hey Bruce," Lucius says when Bruce heads for the door. 

Bruce pauses. "Yeah?" 

"You did well," he says. 

Bruce huffs. He's not a child, he doesn't need Lucius's validation, but he still breathes a little easier as he steps out into the hall. 

\--

Jeremiah's still in the shower when Bruce walks in, the mirrors foggy with steam and the air humid. He tries to not think about the fact that Jeremiah is naked just a few feet away as he brushes his teeth, staring at his own blurry reflection. He can hear Jeremiah talking to himself, a low murmur over the hum of streaming water. It sounds like he's berating himself and Bruce doesn't know how to deal with that. 

"Almost curfew," he says instead, scrubbing the back of his hand over his foamy mouth. 

The shower cuts off. "Okay," Jeremiah mumbles, voice weirdly ragged.

Bruce wants to say something else, something comforting maybe, but he doesn't know what, and he doesn't want to make Jeremiah uncomfortable by hovering while he gets dressed so he mumbles something that could be goodbye and goes back to the room. Bruce is not mentally equipped to handle this kind of thing. 

\-- 

Jeremiah slips in through the door, just before the RA makes his rounds, mumbling a silent goodnight and heading straight for bed. Moments later there's a knock on the door, and the RA, Alvarez, sticks his head in for a quick headcount. 

"Night boys," he says as he leaves. No one answers. 

"I found your keycard," Edward whispers into the darkness, once the door is fully closed. 

"Thanks," Jeremiah answers quietly. He still sounds subdued, like he did when he first moved in, and for a brief second, Bruce hates the Mob Brothers so much his stomach actually aches with it. 

\--

Bruce wakes up in the middle of the night to find Jeremiah sitting on the floor beside his bed with his shoulders against Bruce's bedframe. He has his knees pulled up toward his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his calves. One of Bruce's hands is resting against his bony shoulder, unknowingly thrown there in his sleep. 

"What are you doing?" Bruce whispers. 

Jeremiah startles, sucking in a breath. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, scrambling away. "Shit… I'm… I couldn't… I shouldn't… I'm  _ sorry _ ." 

"Stop apologizing," Bruce hisses. "Fuck, Miah, I don't care if you creep on me in my sleep, okay?" 

Jeremiah falls silent and Bruce knows he's still on the floor somewhere. 

"I wasn't creeping," Jeremiah mumbles after a moment. "I just… I couldn't sleep and I wanted us to be okay, so I was going to wake you but…"

"We're okay," Bruce says quickly. "Of course we're okay. It wasn't  _ your _ fault, okay. Those guys are assholes." 

"Okay," Jeremiah mumbles. "That's… thanks..." 

Bruce waits for him to continue, but after a moment Jeremiah's bed creaks when he slips back into it and nothing more is said. It takes a long time for Bruce to fall back to sleep. 

\--

Jeremiah is almost himself in the morning, a little quieter maybe, and Lucius pulls Bruce aside after breakfast, warning him against doing something stupid.

Bruce huffs as if he has no idea what he's talking about, but when he gets back to the room he destroys the virus he got up to set on the Mob Brothers computers in the wee hours of the morning and decides that revenge might be a dish best served cold. Bruce can be patient if he wants to and one day he  _ will _ be the one to laugh in their smug-ass faces. 

The snow melts into depressing grayish slush and Bruce has to put his sneakers away, for the time being, pulling out the brand new boots his mother got for him. Bruce finds their sparkling newness particularly offensive, but after a couple of days of slush and rain, they look almost like he's had them for years, even if they still chafe. 

"I don't know how you do it," Jeremiah remarks one evening. 

"Do what?" Bruce asks. 

"Just…" Jeremiah shrugs, flushing inexplicably. "Everything about you is just so…  _ you _ ." 

He's looking at Bruce's shoes, Bruce realizes, discarded in a pile just inside the door. 

"Well, some of us don't shine our shoes and iron our shirts every night," Bruce mutters. 

Jeremiah flushes darker, ducking his chin. "That's not what I meant," he mumbles. 

Bruce wants to ask about it, but the door opens to let in Lucius and Edward, cheeks red with cold and hair damp. They're carrying bags from the costume shop downtown and the conversation turns to the looming Halloween party before Bruce gets a chance to open his mouth.

He thinks about it again, after the lights have gone out, wondering what Jeremiah might have meant. Bruce is always himself because he doesn't know how to be anyone else. He's not like Jeremiah or Lucius, who know how to put up a front and can blend in like chameleons. He doesn't think there's anything particularly wrong with always being himself, he thinks that if the rest of the world has a problem with that they can just fuck off, and maybe that's what Jeremiah meant, or maybe he was really just talking about Bruce's shoes. Thinking about it is useless, and with an annoyed huff, Bruce rolls over on his side and wills himself to go to sleep. 

\--

Bruce never attends the Halloween party, because wearing a costume is obligatory and he refuses to dress up. Instead, he usually spends Halloween getting some work done on his computer and enjoying the rare silence that rests over the dorm like a comforting blanket. 

This year's theme is horror movies, which in Bruce's opinion is just as stupid as last year's theme of  _ things that go bump in the night _ . Lucius, Edward, and Jeremiah spend all the time leading up to the party talking about their costumes, and whatever other silly shit people talk about when they're going to a party, while Bruce hunches over his computer trying to tune them out. 

Then Friday rolls around and no one pays any attention in class, and there are silly decorations put up everywhere, and Mr. Gordon even wears a pointy hat. Bruce tries to ignore it all and thinks that if he were a movie character, he'd be The Grinch. 

When classes let out Bruce goes to the library and spends a couple of hours working on an assignment that's due after the weekend. The library is almost entirely deserted; it's just Bruce, the librarians and maybe two other students. It's quiet, almost eerily so, and aside from a couple of displays with "Halloween-themed" books, there are no decorations. Bruce likes it. 

On his way back to the dorms he stops by the cafeteria and has a brain matter sandwich (tuna), washing it down with a Coke. A group of zombies sits at the table next to him and on his way across campus he sees at least seven princesses, vaguely wondering what horror movie they fell out of. 

A ghost tries to scare him in the hall (he thinks it's Victor from his Advanced CS class), two werewolves tumble out from the common room, and he bumps into Eric from two suites over whose costume idea seems to be BLOOD. It's all very ridiculous. 

\--

Jeremiah is the only one still in the room when Bruce walks in, sitting on the edge of his bed with a book open across his lap. He's already in costume, hair slicked back in a shiny wave over the crown of his head, face pale with powder and lips slick and red with something that looks like lip-gloss. 

"Bruce," he says, jumping up from the bed. "Hi." 

He's wearing black slacks, a form-fitting black dress shirt and a long black cape with a stiff collar and blood red satin lining. Bruce can't stop looking at his mouth. 

"Hi," he mutters, dumping his bag at the edge of his bed. "I thought you'd be at the party by now." 

"Yeah… I was… I thought…" Jeremiah fidgets unhappily. "I… uh… Please come." 

Bruce blinks. "To the party?" 

Jeremiah nods, smiling tentatively. It's unfair, Bruce thinks, that Jeremiah can look like a million dollars even in a silly costume. There should be laws against being Jeremiah's level of attractive. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. "I don't dress up," he says flatly. 

Jeremiah nods again. "Yeah… but I was thinking that… um… the theme is horror movies, right? So you could just go as… I don't know… Innocent victim number three. You wouldn't have to dress up for that." 

Bruce frowns because that idea had never occurred to him. 

"Please," Jeremiah says softly, and Bruce can tell his cheeks are pink under the powder. 

"You really think they'll let me in like this?" Bruce asks, gesturing down at his uniform. 

"We could add a smear of blood to your cheek or something," he says. "Or puncture wounds on your neck." He smiles shyly. "You could be one of my victims." 

Bruce thinks about the blessed silence and all the work he could get done. He thinks about how much he doesn't like people and especially people in costume. He thinks about the last time he went to a party and ended up awkwardly leaning against the wall for an hour before he gave up and went home. 

"Please," Jeremiah says again. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself if I knew you were sitting here all alone." 

"But I like being alone," Bruce points out. 

Jeremiah's face falls and he fidgets again, cheeks practically glowing under his makeup now. "It was just an idea," he mumbles awkwardly, taking a tentative step towards the door. "I… uh… I'll get out of your hair then." 

"Okay," Bruce says decisively, because it was a stupid idea anyway, turning towards the bed to pull his laptop out of his backpack. "Have fun." 

The only answer is the door closing after Jeremiah's swishing cape. 

\--

Bruce settles down on the bed and boots up his laptop. There's still noise in the hallway, but it's already dimming down and in an hour he's certain everything will be quiet and calm. He stretches his arms above his head and cracks his knuckles, anticipating an evening spent proving people wrong on the internet and maybe some homework. Later, when everything is quiet, he might take the time to jerk off lazily in the shower and go to bed satisfied for once. 

Bruce's certain Jeremiah only wanted him to come because he's the kind of person that feels bad if not everyone is included and also because he might have a slight touch of hero worship going on since Bruce saved him from the Mob Brothers. He'll get over it and there's no doubt he'll have a lot more fun without Bruce there to hang on his coattails. 

Besides, he's probably the kind of person that has girls swarming around him at parties. He's ridiculously good looking and he has that vulnerable touch that a lot of girls seem to like as if he's a puppy just waiting to get kicked. By the end of the night he'll probably have shared his lip-gloss with someone until his lips are swollen and red from kissing rather than sticky color, and tomorrow morning he'll be holding hands with that someone under the breakfast table, looking adorably embarrassed and earnest about it. Jeremiah's going to have a great time without Bruce, there's really no doubt about that. 

Bruce thinks about Jeremiah's lips, sweet and curved and sticky-red, and about the way, his cheeks flushed under his makeup. He thinks about Jeremiah saying,  _ please _ , earnest, almost shy, and the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. He thinks about Jeremiah sitting by his bed in the middle of the night because he wanted them to be okay, and because he's the only person that ever drew comfort from Bruce's presence. 

"Fuck it," Bruce says to the universe at large and shoves his laptop to the side. 

Edward's bed is piled high with makeup and pieces of discarded costume. Bruce gets up to eye it speculatively, staring at the small containers of theatre makeup and the tube of fake blood. It shouldn't be that hard to manage something that looks like a puncture wound. 

\--

Fifteen minutes later Bruce's neck is scrubbed raw and there are fake blood smears on his collar. He stares angrily at himself in the mirror, because if there's one thing he hates, it's having to admit that he's just not good at something, even if that something is applying makeup. He almost discards the entire idea, but then he thinks about Jeremiah's shy little smile and all the girls that are probably all up in his cape by now and pulls out his phone. 

He scrolls through the contact list until he finds the entry that simply reads  _ That Bitch _ and hits call.

Selina sounds breathless when she picks up as if he caught her at the tail end of a laugh and he promptly disconnects. She calls back five seconds later. 

"Seriously, Bruce," she says. "What's your problem?" 

"You sounded busy," Bruce mutters. 

She huffs out a loud breath. "What did you want, Bruce?" 

Selina has a way of saying Bruce's name that makes it sound like an insult and she puts it to good use. 

"I was thinking about going to the party," Bruce says, stuffing his free hand deep into his pocket. "And I… uh… could use some… um… help." 

There is a short silence. "Did I hear that right?" Selina asks. "You're asking me for help? With a costume, I assume. For the party, you absolutely refused to take me to last year because, and I quote, 'dressing up was beneath you'?" 

Bruce winces. "Um… Yes?" 

There is another silence and Bruce almost thinks she hung up on him, but then she sighs long-sufferingly and says, "I'll be right there."

Bruce will just never understand women. 

\-- 

Selina shows up twenty minutes later with a huge bag of makeup. She's dressed up like a cat but, honestly, it looks awesome and elaborate and Bruce tells her as much with his hands stuffed into his pockets and a scowl on his face. 

"Awww," Selina says, tilting her head to the side. "It's almost like you turned into a real boy."

"Fuck off," Bruce mutters, cheeks heating up. 

"Gayness suits you," Selina continues, unperturbed, and opens up her makeup bag. "So, I'm guessing that's your costume."

Bruce nods. 

"How creative of you," she says dryly. 

Bruce reminds himself that it's not nice to hit girls and that he was never that kind of a douchebag. 

"So…" She purses her lips. "Are we going for the terribly clichéd, but kind of sweet, vampire victim angle here?" 

Bruce nods again and tells his cheeks very firmly that they're not allowed to blush any brighter. 

"Okay," Selina says, gesturing for Bruce to come closer. "Let's see what I can do." 

Ten minutes later, Bruce's face is pale (well, paler) with powder, his lips tinted subtly blue and there's a creepily realistic puncture wound on the side of his neck. He stares at himself in the mirror and grudgingly admits that Selina did a good job. 

"I know," she says smugly. 

\--

The party is held in the gymnasium, decorated for the occasion with spider webs and black and orange streamers, and Bruce almost turns in the door. The place is packed with students and teachers in varying degrees of costume, and something loud and obnoxious, possibly by Michael Jackson, is blaring from the hidden speakers. 

Mr. Gordon. is standing at the door in his silly hat, now paired with a floor-length robe, as if he fell out of Harry Potter, and he turns his head to smile at Bruce. 

"Nice costume," he says and Bruce bites back his instinctual, "I wish I could say the same," in favor of a quick nod.

Selina disappears into the crowd within seconds, seemingly swallowed by a group of zombies, while Bruce edges his way along the wall. There are snacks and punchbowls set out on tables, guarded by sullen-looking RAs, and half the room has been dedicated to groups of tables and chairs, while the other half is a makeshift dance floor. 

He brushes past someone in an awesome zombie princess costume, nearly bumps into a stray werewolf, and trips over the outstretched leg of a Mob Brothers, before he finally spots Jeremiah, backed up against the wall and looking a bit lost with a cup of electric blue punch clutched between his hands. 

There are no girls hanging from his cape, and Bruce carefully inches closer, looking around just to make sure he isn't interrupting anything. He spots Edward and Lucius on the dance floor, flailing around like idiots, but thankfully they don't spot him. Bruce would like as few people as possible to know about this temporary insanity. 

Jeremiah looks up when Bruce is just a few feet away and his eyes widen in a way that would be comical if it weren’t so adorable. 

"Bruce," he says, blinking rapidly as if he doesn't quite believe his eyes. "You're here." 

"Yeah… um…" Bruce scrubs at the back of his neck, mindful of the makeup, and flushes helplessly. He can't even think of an excuse that isn't about Jeremiah's face. 

"I'll get you something to drink," Jeremiah says, his words practically tumbling over each other and his eyes shining. "Wait right here. Don't move." 

Bruce pointedly finds a place deeper into the shadows to wait because he's not a dog, but he almost regrets it when Jeremiah comes back and his face falls after he doesn't spot Bruce right away. 

"Miah," Bruce hisses, eyeing the dance floor nervously. "Over here." 

Jeremiah perks up again and he practically bounces over, the silly cape flapping around his legs. 

"Here," he says, handing a cup of blue punch to Bruce. "It's disgusting," he leans closer and whispers, "but Edward spiked it." 

Bruce smirks, because of course he did, and takes a cautious sip from the rim. It is disgusting and sickly sweet, but he can taste the bitter tang of alcohol underneath the sugar. Jeremiah moves to lean against the wall next to Bruce, close enough that their shoulders brush. 

"You look good," he says and when Bruce glances at him, he's blushing again. 

"Selina helped," Bruce mutters, stuffing his free hand into his pocket, and if Jeremiah hadn't been standing so close Bruce would have missed his slight flinch. 

"Oh," he says, moving slightly to the side so that they're no longer touching. "I saw her earlier. Her costume is awesome." 

Bruce shrugs. "I suppose," he says. 

He wants to say something about how it's not like that, but then he isn't sure that  _ this _ is like that either, so he settles for moving closer until their shoulders are brushing again, bumping Jeremiah slightly so that he knows it's deliberate. 

He didn't even know that Jeremiah knew about him and Selina, but maybe he's been asking around. The thought makes Bruce feel a little warm inside and he scowls into his cup. Emotions are so ridiculous. 

\--

Even aided by alcohol, the party is just as boring as Bruce thought it would be. They spend maybe an hour leaning against the wall, talking about people's costumes and drinking vile blueness, while Jeremiah eyes the dance floor longingly. 

"You can dance if you want to," Bruce says magnanimously. "I'll wait here." 

"Are you sure?" Jeremiah asks, his eyes shining. 

Bruce nods. If Jeremiah wants to make a fool of himself, Bruce's not going to stop him. 

"Okay." Jeremiah hands Bruce his cup and bites down on his lower lip. "Come get me if you get bored, okay?"

"Okay," Bruce says. 

Bruce has every intention of not watching Jeremiah dance because no one looks good flopping around, but somehow he finds his eyes scanning the crowd for Jeremiah anyway. 

He's at the far edge, in a haphazard circle with Lucius and Edward and few other people Bruce recognizes from around. There's a lot of flopping and flailing going on in general, but Jeremiah… Jeremiah looks good. He doesn't flop and flail as much as he twists and turns and slithers, body gyrating in time with the beat. 

The cape billows dramatically around him, his feet move effortlessly across the floor, and within minutes the circle has grown and Jeremiah has somehow ended up in the middle of it. He doesn't even seem to notice, dancing with his eyes mostly closed and his face upturned, and Bruce doesn't know how to look away. 

He moves closer, drawn like a moth to a flame, until he's on the outskirts of the circle, swaying unevenly to make it seem as if he's dancing even when he's really not. Jeremiah does some kind of twist-turn pirouette thing that should look ridiculous, but that actually makes people applaud and Bruce finds his own hands picking up the rhythm in time with the others’. 

Of course, it draws attention, unwanted attention, and Bruce notices the crowd parting, making way for two shiny bald heads out of the corner of his eye. Jeremiah doesn't see them coming and Bruce starts moving without the slightest clue as what to do. He ends up right in the Mob Brothers' way, lifting his chin defiantly as if his scrappy frame is any kind of match for a double helping of 6'4” Meat-Mountain with Oswald on the side. 

Butch, or maybe it's Sal, walks right into Bruce, as if he isn't even there, sending him sprawling across the floor with a well-aimed shoulder to the chest. Sal, or maybe it's Butch, trips over him, giving him a swift kick in the thigh on his way, and then Oswald pretend-stumbles and spills punch all over Bruce's face. It's not ideal and Bruce's thigh really fucking hurts, but at least they don't have a chance to get to Jeremiah, because within seconds the music cuts off and the dance floor is swarmed by teachers. 

Bruce notices Edward pulling Jeremiah away as he slowly pushes himself to his feet and wipes the punch from his face, while Lucius steps up to his side, muttering, "I can't decide if that was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," into his ear. 

Next, to them, the Mob Brothers are telling Mr. Gordon. that it was all an unfortunate accident. 

"Right, Bruce?" Oswald says, turning to give Bruce a smug little smile. 

"Right," Bruce mutters because he can see the warning in Oswald's eyes. 

"Are you okay?" Mr. Gordon. asks. "Did you hit your head?" 

"I'm fine," Bruce says, his voice tightly clipped, "Just wet." He shifts his feet awkwardly with punch dripping from his hair. "Can I go?" he asks. 

Everyone's looking and Bruce feels like an idiot. He just wants to go back to the dorm, shower and then hide until graduation. 

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. Gordon. says kindly. "Of course." Sal, or Butch, makes a move to leave as well and Mr. Gordon.'s voice doesn't sound nearly as nice when he says, "Not you two. I think I'd like for you to stay a while longer." 

Bruce tries to hide his smile behind his hand, but he knows he hasn’t succeeded when Oswald's eyes narrow in his direction. 

"Don't you even think about pulling one of your little stunts," Oswald hisses, stepping closer. "You won't be the one to pay." 

Lucius wisely stops Bruce from punching Oswald in the nose with a steel grip around his wrist. "Come on," he whispers urgently. "It's not worth it." 

Bruce lets himself be tugged away with his lips pressed tightly together. "If they lay one finger on him," he says darkly. 

"You won't do a fucking thing," Lucius hisses. "Because you'd get kicked out and Jeremiah would never forgive himself." 

Bruce clenches his teeth together and doesn't say anything, because Lucius is right and they both know it. 

\--

Edward and Jeremiah are already in the room when Lucius and Bruce walk in, sitting next to each other on Edward's messy bed. Jeremiah jumps up as soon the door closes behind them, arms stretched out as if he's going for a hug. Bruce ignores him, heading straight for his dresser. 

"I'm taking a shower," he says, keeping his back to the room in general and Jeremiah specifically. 

He doesn't want to do this in front of Lucius and Edward, he feels stupid enough just thinking about it. If it were just the two of them, he'd let Jeremiah hug him or whatever ridiculous thing he wants to do, but it's not and Bruce doesn't want to do this with an audience. It's bad enough that everyone knows he went to the party and that at least Lucius and Edward are clever enough to figure out why. It makes him feel exposed as if just woke up naked in class, and he needs a moment to compose himself. 

The dorm is still silent when Bruce makes his way to the showers and he hopes that means that he hasn’t managed to ruin the party for everyone. He certainly wouldn't appreciate the entire student body hating him tomorrow just because he couldn't let the stupid Mob Brothers get to Jeremiah. Logically Bruce knows that whatever they had been planning to do to Jeremiah to keep him from being the center of attention wouldn't have been worse than what they did to Bruce, but Bruce bounces back in a way that Jeremiah just doesn't.

It's still pretty early when Bruce walks back into the room, but no one comments when he crawls straight into bed and pulls the covers up to his ears. Jeremiah is on his own bed and even though Bruce can feel his worry as if it's a palpable thing reaching across the room to poke at him, Jeremiah doesn't say anything either. 

\-- 

Bruce wakes up in the middle of the night and he's not very surprised to find Jeremiah sitting on the floor by his bed, slumped forward with his forehead resting against his knees. Bruce just watches him for a moment, taking in the fragile curl of his neck and the dejected slump of his bony shoulders. Only the barest hint of light falls in through the window, making everything appear in shades of grey, and Jeremiah's skin is startlingly white in the faint light. 

"Miah," Bruce whispers, reaching out to touch his fingertips to Jeremiah's back. "What are you doing?" 

Jeremiah startles, turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder, eyes huge and shiny in the darkness. "I just wanted to…" he trails off and Bruce can't tell if he's blushing. 

"We're okay," Bruce mutters, worrying at his lower lip. "We're always okay." 

Jeremiah turns further so that he is on his hands and knees by the bed. "Yeah?" he asks, almost breathless. 

"Yeah," Bruce confirms and he doesn't know if he’s ever meant something quite as much. 

Jeremiah shifts and Bruce thinks he's going to scurry back to his own bed, but instead Jeremiah darts forward, pressing his lips to Bruce's cheek in a dry kiss. Then he backs away, too fast for Bruce to catch him, and moments later Bruce hears him climbing into his own bed. 

Bruce's cheeks flush stupidly and his heart trips against his ribcage and against his better judgment he reaches up to touch his fingers to the spot that can still feel the imprint of Jeremiah's lips.

Jeremiah usually sleeps in on the weekends but when Bruce wakes up on Saturday morning Jeremiah's bed is already empty and neatly made. It unsettles him and he keeps sneaking glances at it as he pushes himself upright to sit against the headboard. Lucius is up too and halfway dressed, bent down to look for something underneath his bed, while Edward is still wrapped up like a breakfast burrito in his. 

"Where's Miah?" Bruce asks, giving his bed another uneasy glance. 

"He had a date," Edward mumbles from within his cocoon. 

Bruce's chest feels funny and he buries his fingers into the covers. "A date?" he asks, and his voice comes out squeaky and weird. 

"A  _ study _ date," Lucius clarifies, reaching over to slap the Edward burrito. "Jesus Christ, Edward, don't give him a heart attack." 

Bruce's cheeks flush annoyingly. "I don't care," he lies. 

Lucius snorts and Edward wriggles his head and shoulders out of the covers to roll his eyes at Bruce. "Yeah, right," he says. 

Bruce scowls at them and grabs his computer from the nightstand, pulling it open on his lap. "I don't," he says petulantly. "Miah can do whatever he likes." 

Lucius says something that Bruce ignores, staring very intently at the boot-up screen. Jeremiah is free to do whatever he wants. If he wants to kiss Bruce's cheek in the middle of the night and then run off in the morning like they had an awkward one-night-stand, then obviously that's his prerogative, and if it makes Bruce feel unsettled and weird and a little bit like he's been dumped, then that's  _ his _ prerogative and nothing anyone needs to know about. 

\--

Bruce doesn't make it down to the dining hall until lunchtime and then it's only because his stomach won't stop growling at him, but he's not sulking, no matter what Lucius or Edward might say; he just happens to be busy with very important things. 

The dining hall is unusually empty and Bruce could have easily found a free table, but Selina waves him over from the table she shares with her girl friends. Despite Bruce's better judgment, he takes his tray over there. 

"Hey Bruce," Selina says when he sits down, reaching over to give him a one-armed hug in a way that she didn't even do when they were dating. 

"Hey," Bruce mutters, stiffly accepting her impromptu embrace. 

To his surprise, Tabitha and Barbara, Selina's best friends, actually return his greeting without looking like they just bit into a lemon and he nods warily at them. Usually, Bruce avoids small talk, he just doesn't see the point, but Tabitha's and Barbara's unusually forthcoming attitude has him trying, asking awkward questions about classes and homework as if he's their creepy uncle twice removed or something. 

"See what I mean?" Selina asks after Bruce has offered some bullshit advice about Barbara's computer class. "He's like a whole new person." 

Bruce gives her a sour look and focuses very intently on his food, ignoring the way Tabitha and Barbara hum in agreement. He's not a new person, Jeremiah didn't  _ change _ him, he's just trying a little harder to be likable because he happens to want to. 

After lunch Selina makes him go for a walk around campus, just the two of them. Bruce stuffs his hands into his pockets and scuffs his shoes against the ground, but he lets her lead the way, following the immaculately kept gravel paths around the ancient stone buildings. He remembers when he first got here, the awe he felt when tilting his head back to look up at the sprawling main hall; it feels like such a long time ago now. 

"I saw you last night," Selina says, leading him around the newly renovated library building toward one of the small parks. "With Butch and Sal." 

Bruce flushes and kicks at a stray stone. "It was stupid," he mutters. 

"Maybe," she agrees. "But adorable, too." 

Bruce rolls his eyes and kicks at another stone. He thinks about Jeremiah kissing his cheek and flushes some more. It was easier with Selina, he creepily stared at her for two months until she asked him out and then he let her call all the shots until she broke up with him. 

"Why did you break up with me?" Bruce asks, staring off into the distance. He doesn't think knowing will stop him from making the same mistakes again, but forewarned is forearmed and all that. 

"Because I knew you'd let me," Selina answers simply. 

Bruce turns his head to look at her, frowning. 

She shrugs. "It's true," she says. "I knew you wouldn't fight for me and it made dating you feel pointless." 

"Oh," Bruce mutters, looking away again. He's not exactly sure what to do with that knowledge. 

"Look, Bruce…" She reaches out to touch his arm. "I'm not saying dating you was pointless, okay? I… You can be a wonderful person and a compliment from you is… it's worth a whole lot more than a compliment from someone else, but you always made me work for it. You're hard to read and you give so very little away and in the end, it was more work that it was worth. People want to be cherished, Bruce.  _ I _ want to be cherished and you just didn't give me that." 

"Cherished," Bruce repeats dumbly. "What does that even mean? I mean, I know what it means, but not what it  _ means _ ." 

Selina laughs, bumping their shoulders together. "It means that people want someone who asks about their day and not just because they think they should but because they care. They want someone who cares where they come from and where they are going. Someone who likes them for who they are and not who they could be." She bumps his shoulder again. "Someone, maybe, who jumps in front of the assholes who want to ruin their night, even if doing that is stupid and probably pointless in the end." 

Bruce blushes helplessly and stares at the mostly bare trees that line the park; only a few scattered leaves remain, dangling red and vulnerable from the bare branches. Bruce feels like one of those leaves, red-faced and naked, and a little bit as if he's going to fall any minute now. 

"I like him," Bruce mutters as if Selina hadn’t already told him that, weeks ago. 

"I know," Selina answers, without the slightest hint of mocking in her voice, and Bruce thinks that she makes a pretty good friend. 

\--

Lucius and Edward are back when Bruce eventually makes it back to the suite but Jeremiah isn't and Bruce gives his empty bed a scathing look as if Jeremiah will somehow feel it, wherever he is. 

"He's at the library," Lucius says as if Bruce asked. 

"Whatever," Bruce mutters, making his way over to his bed. 

He pulls his computer open and spends a few minutes staring at the work he started before he left. It's nice and neat and orderly in the way that feelings just aren't, but still…. 

"What's he doing at the library?" 

"I don't know," Lucius answers, rolling his eyes. "Studying, I assume." 

"For this long?" 

Lucius sighs, throwing his hands out. "Maybe he's very serious about studying," he says. "Or maybe he's avoiding us. I. Don't. Know. Maybe you should head over there and ask him." 

Bruce huffs, because he is certainly going to do no such thing, and reaches for his headphones. 

\- 

An hour later it's almost time for dinner, Bruce hasn't gotten anything done, and Jeremiah is still not back. With a dejected sigh, Bruce pushes his laptop to the side and swings his legs off the bed. Lucius looks up from the book he's reading, but Bruce pointedly ignores him, shuffling across the floor to stick his feet into his sneakers. 

"Going somewhere?" Edward asks, and when Bruce turns to look at him he's beaming like a lunatic. 

"No," Bruce lies and pulls the door open. It falls shut on Edward's gleeful laughter which is just as well because Bruce does not want to hear whatever thoughts he might have to offer.

It's darkening outside, the streetlights casting a hazy glow across the ground, and frost crunches underneath the soles of Bruce's sneakers. Bruce sticks his hands into his pockets and pulls his shoulders up against the biting cold, walking quickly across the campus towards the lit-up library building. 

Jeremiah is at one of the tables in the back, surrounded by piles of books that look like they might fall over and bury him in knowledge any minute. He has one book open on his lap and another before his laptop, but he doesn't seem to be reading either of them, instead, he's looking out the narrow window, slowly turning a pen between his fingers. He looks tired and his hair is messed up in the back as if he forgot to fix it this morning, and Bruce doesn't really know what to do about all the stupid feelings that flutter through his chest. 

"Miah," he says, and it comes out a little sharper than he intended, pointed enough that Jeremiah jumps and dislodges the book on his lap, making it clatter to the floor. 

"Uh… Bruce… hi," Jeremiah says, carefully avoiding Bruce's eyes while his cheeks go from pink to bright red. "What… um… what are you doing here?"

A girl from two tables over hushes them and Bruce gives her an annoyed look. Libraries, in Bruce's opinion, are not actually sanctuaries of silence, and hushing people is stupid and pithy either way. 

Jeremiah, of course, apologizes, which leads to her shushing him again and Bruce picks one of the books from Jeremiah's table, weighing it in his hand while he entertains a brief fantasy of throwing it at her head. He doesn't. Instead, he pointedly turns his back to her and focuses his attention on Jeremiah, which weirdly makes him blush again, and fidget with the book on his lap. He really is kind of hopelessly adorable. 

"Are you going to hide here forever?" Bruce asks, unnecessarily loud, just to annoy hush-girl. 

Jeremiah blushes even brighter, Bruce didn't know he could do that and squirms uncomfortably. 

"I'm not hiding," he whispers petulantly. 

Bruce eyes the Powerbar wrapper discarded on the table. He knows for a fact that Jeremiah hates Powerbars and doesn't consider them an adequate substitute for a meal. He raises his eyebrows and Jeremiah blushes some more. It makes Bruce feel funny inside and he scuffs his feet, putting the book down on the table. 

"Are you coming or what?" he asks grumpily, shoving his hands into his pockets again. 

Jeremiah only hesitates for a moment before he nods. 

\- 

It's almost entirely dark when they step out from the library and it's cold enough that their breath turns to smoky mist. They don't even make it down the stairs before Jeremiah starts to make worried noises about Bruce's lack of proper clothing. 

"What is it with you and clothes?" he asks, exasperated. "Wearing a coat wouldn't kill you, you know?"

Bruce shrugs. "I don't get cold," he lies. The truth is more that he never remembers that he  _ does _ get cold until he's already outside and then going back to change always seems like too much work. 

"You could at least wear gloves," Jeremiah says, "Or a scarf." 

Bruce ignores him, but he can't help the way his lips curl up, even as he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets because it really is fucking cold. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jeremiah mutters, pulling on Bruce's sleeve to get him to stop. 

"What?" Bruce asks, pulling his shoulders up. 

Jeremiah just shakes his head, pulling the scarf he's wearing around his neck loose. It's poison green and loosely knitted, easily long enough to almost brush the ground when unfolded. 

"Wear this," he says, hanging it around Bruce's neck. 

Bruce stares down at where the tassels almost brush the tops of his sneakers and rolls his eyes. "I'm going to look like an idiot in this," he points out. 

Jeremiah carefully wraps the scarf twice around Bruce's neck, so that the tassels only dangle down to his stomach. "No, you won't," he says, gloved fingers curling into the soft yarn as he makes a simple knot against Bruce's chest. 

The scarf smells like Jeremiah, spicy and citrusy like the shower gel he uses, and Bruce's cheeks flush stupidly, breath sticking oddly in his throat. Jeremiah is still holding on to the ends of the scarf, his knuckles almost brushing Bruce's chest, and Bruce's heart thumps against his ribcage as if it's trying to send Jeremiah a message in Morse code. 

Jeremiah looks up and their eyes catch for the briefest moment, but Bruce still feels the jolt of contact down to his toes. Then Jeremiah kisses him. It's just a dry brush of lips, but on the mouth this time, and Bruce's heart pounds so hard he feels dizzy with it. 

Then Jeremiah stumbles back, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes huge and panicked. "Shit," he curses. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." 

Bruce blinks because he didn't think it was that bad. 

"Fuck," Jeremiah hisses emphatically. "I'm so sorry. I didn't… Shit, I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. It was just… and the scarf… and  _ fuck _ ." 

Jeremiah runs a shaky hand through his hair, making it stand up oddly, his eyes looking anywhere but at Bruce. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, and Bruce's stomach clenches. "I didn't… I didn't… Can we just forget about it? Please." 

Bruce's chest kind of hurts and his stomach feels oddly hollow, but he nods jerkily. "Okay," he says flatly, "Fine. It never happened." 

Jeremiah glances at him and his face looks weird for a moment before he tears his eyes away again. "I'm sorry," he says again and he really does look miserable, all hunched in on himself and trembling from head to foot. 

"Don't worry about it," Bruce grinds out. "It's fine." 

It doesn't feel fine. It feels as if Jeremiah just gave him an amazing present and then tore it out of hands because it was all just a joke to him. Bruce looks away, pulling his shoulders up, and the stupid scarf still smells like Jeremiah, and his stupid eyes won't stop stinging, and he really wishes he were anywhere but right here. 

"I'm sorry," Jeremiah says again. 

"Would you stop fucking apologizing?" Bruce explodes. "It was a mistake. I get it. Just… just shut the fuck up, would you?" 

Jeremiah flinches, as if Bruce slapped him across the face, and takes half a step back. 

"I think I…" he gestures towards the still open library. 

"Fine," Bruce spits out, tearing the stupid scarf from around his neck and holding it out. 

Jeremiah snatches it from his fingers, making sure their hands don't touch, and that's that. 

\--

The two weeks that follow the kiss-that-wasn't easily qualify as the worst weeks in Bruce's life. Everything is awkward and horrible and tense and he just can't make the stupid feelings in his chest go away no matter what he does.

He sleeps like shit. He keeps waking up, hoping that Jeremiah will be sitting by his bed, but he never is and it just makes everything worse. He wants to apologize, he wants to make Jeremiah smile at him again, but he can't because he's still so fucking angry. Jeremiah kissed him. Jeremiah kissed him  _ twice _ . And then he took it back. And everything sucks. 

Bruce spends most of the time he's not in class and not working with Selina and her girl friends that he's almost, tentatively, ready to call  _ his _ girlfriends, which is weird on so many levels. Sometimes when Selina isn't around, he has lunch with Barbara, and he sits with Tabitha in Latin, French, and ancient Greek, and it's… nice. And they're all very attractive women, but he doesn't want to bone them, he just wants to pick their weird and curly brains. And it's good. But strange. 

Besides, it's nice to have a few people on "his" side, because he's pretty sure that both Lucius and Edward assume he did something horrible and to be honest he hasn't really tried to talk them out of that notion.

It sucks to get the cold shoulder from his best friends, but Bruce has other friends now, and Jeremiah, being the new kid, doesn't. Bruce might still be pissed at him but he doesn't want Jeremiah to be miserable and cowering along the walls like he used to. It's bad enough that he won't even look at Bruce, this tight look of  _ something _ permanently etched onto his face. 

\--

Then it's the weekend again, and Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and Bruce doesn't usually look forward to spending time with the extended family but this year he can't  _ wait _ .

Lucius and Edward are leaving on Tuesday night since Tuesday is a half day, while Bruce is set for a boring train ride on Wednesday around noon (his mother knows better than to book him on the early train). He doesn't know when Jeremiah is leaving and he tells himself, very firmly, that he doesn't care. 

He spends Saturday and most of Sunday hanging out with Selina and Barbara. (Tabitha has a boyfriend from town and spends most of her weekends with him.) He would stay in the suite and work, but his being around makes everyone uncomfortable, so in the end, it's easier just to leave. He does work when he gets back to the room on Sunday night though.

Jeremiah is on his bed, but after an hour, maybe, of Bruce's tapping, he grabs his phone and heads outside. Bruce looks up just in time to see the door fall shut behind him and he can't help the way he sits up a little straighter, the key card incident from October still at the back of his mind. 

It's the first time Bruce has been alone with Lucius and Edward since he came storming back to the suite after the  _ incident _ and Lucius immediately throws his book to the side. 

"You're going to tell me what happened and you're going to tell me now," he says, pointing a shaky finger at Bruce. "This, whatever this is, is freaking me out and Miah won't talk." 

Bruce ignores him, staring uneasily at the door. What if Jeremiah is in trouble? Would he let Bruce help him?

"Bruce." This time it's Edward. "Bruce, please." Edward looks honestly upset, clutching his pillow to his chest like a child with a teddy bear. 

Bruce sighs. "Nothing happened," he says. He's so not going to tell them that Jeremiah kissed him (twice) and took it back. He hasn't told anyone about that, not even Selina. 

" _ Bruce _ ." 

"We… we argued, okay?" Bruce says, turning to look at Lucius. "I told him to shut up and he's been quiet for two weeks. Hoo-fucking-ray." 

"No," Lucius says. "No, that's not it. Miah says it was  _ his _ fault." 

"Well, he thinks world hunger is his fault," Bruce mutters. "No surprise there." 

Bruce looks at the door. Can't Jeremiah come back already so that Bruce can go back to his work and everything can be tense and horrible again?

"Please just make up," Edward says pitifully, falling over on the bed. "It's like when my mom and dad were thinking about getting a divorce and everyone walked on eggshells around the house for months." 

"Oh," Bruce says, mouth twisting. "I… uh… I'm sorry… about that." 

Edward looks startled, abruptly pushing himself up again. "Did you just apologize for something you had nothing to do with?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. He no longer looks pitiful, his usual expression of gleeful insanity sneaking back across his features. "Oh my God, Bruce," he exclaims. "Love’s changed you. You're like a whole new person. Miah cooties infected your bloodstream and now you will empathize like a boss." 

Bruce looks to Lucius for help, but Lucius is smiling at him in this weird soft way that Bruce doesn't think he likes. 

"You did change," he says and Bruce decides that he liked it better when they weren't talking to him. 

\-- 

Jeremiah is gone for almost half an hour and Bruce is just about to swallow his pride and go look for him when he walks in. He's been crying, eyes red-rimmed and face blotchy, and his bottom lip is stuck between his teeth as if he's still struggling to hold back tears. He doesn't look at anyone, but his eyes keep flitting to the open space next to Bruce on the bed and after a breathless moment Bruce reaches out to pat it in invitation. 

It barely takes a second for Jeremiah to kick off his shoes and stumble across the room, collapsing next to Bruce on the bed. He doesn't say anything; he just curls into a tight ball against Bruce's side, pressing his face into Bruce's bony hip. Bruce can feel the way Jeremiah's breath keeps hitching, coming out in jerky warm puffs against Bruce's pants, seeping through to his skin, and after a moment he fake-casually drops a hand into Jeremiah's hair. 

Jeremiah makes a small broken noise, fisting a hand into Bruce's pants as if he wants to get impossibly closer and Bruce exchanges worried looks with Lucius and Edward. 

"Are you okay?" Bruce asks gruffly, still petting Jeremiah's hair with stiff awkward fingers. "Did someone hurt you?" 

Jeremiah shakes his head minutely, which could mean no on both accounts, or maybe just that he doesn't want to talk about it. Bruce licks his lips and wonders if he should  _ make _ Jeremiah talk about it, or if it's okay to just pet Jeremiah's hair for now. Most likely Jeremiah got into another fight with his brother and there's nothing much Bruce can do about it, no matter how much he wants to get on the next plane to Kansas City and punch Jerome Valeska in the nose. If Jeremiah wants to talk, he will talk, Bruce's almost certain of that. 

\--

Jeremiah doesn't talk. Eventually, he pushes himself off Bruce's bed, clearly embarrassed, and mutters something about taking a shower, disappearing to the bathroom with his toilet bag, a towel, and his pajamas. 

"Fight with the brother?" Edward suggests as soon as the door closes behind him. 

Bruce and Lucius both nod, exchanging a quick look. 

"Sometimes I hate that guy," Edward sighs, flopping over on his back. 

"All the time," Bruce mutters darkly. 

It's entirely possible that Jeremiah's brother has tons of amazing qualities, maybe he's nice to small children, or maybe he spends his free time volunteering at animal shelters, but Bruce will never be able to forgive him for the way he treats Jeremiah. And it's not like Jeremiah ever talks about it, it's actually bad enough for Bruce to be able to read it between the lines, and that says something. 

Jeremiah takes a long time in the shower and when he gets back he crawls directly into bed, turning his back to the room. He looks too small, curled up under the covers like he did that first night forever ago, and Bruce can't help the way he keeps looking over to reassure himself that Jeremiah is still there. It's ridiculous, maybe, but Bruce is coming to terms with the fact that he's always going to be ridiculous about Jeremiah. 

\--

In the morning Jeremiah goes to breakfast early, like he's done every morning for the last two weeks, and Bruce tries really hard to pretend it doesn't bother him. Lucius and Edward both keep shooting him these looks, as if they're pitying him, and in the end, Bruce leaves early, too, because he can't imagine sitting through a whole meal with Lucius and Edward feeling sorry for him. 

The air outside is crisp, but the grass is wet with dew instead of frost, and the sun shines from a pale blue sky, hinting at a beautiful day to come. Bruce squints sullenly at it, never at his best in the mornings, and shoves his hands into his pockets as he descends the stairs. 

"Bruce, wait up." 

Bruce freezes at the familiar sound of Jeremiah's voice, craning his neck to find Jeremiah standing at the side of the building. He scuffs his shoes against the ground as he waits for Jeremiah to catch up, watching him from out of the corner of his eye.

Jeremiah is in his uniform, of course, and somehow it always looks so much better on him than it does on Bruce, like a fashion statement rather than a necessity. 

Bruce's uniform pants hang low on his hips and sag around his skinny legs. His shirt is too long and always wrinkled, and the vest never fit him quite right. Jeremiah's uniform pants look tailored, his shirt is always crisp and his vest emphasizes the long line of his thin torso. 

Bruce's hair declared autonomy when he was two and has been prickly about laying straight ever since, while Jeremiah's hair is always perfectly coifed. It's unfair, Bruce thinks, for one person to be that good looking. 

Bruce starts walking as soon as Jeremiah comes up beside him and they're halfway to the dining hall before Jeremiah finally speaks. 

"Can we…" He cuts himself off and when Bruce glances at him he's gnawing at his lower lip, cheeks flushed pink. 

"Can we what?" Bruce asks. 

Jeremiah hesitates, making a complicated face. "Can we just be okay again?" 

Bruce doesn't even have to think about it. "We're always okay," he says flatly. "I told you that." 

He's a bit embarrassed about how much he still means it, but Bruce never wanted to be another burden on Jeremiah's shoulders. 

"Yeah?"

Bruce turns to give Jeremiah a flat look only to find him fighting a smile with his lower lip still caught between his teeth. He looks ridiculous and Bruce really, really wants to kiss him, but instead, he jerks his eyes away and nods. "Yeah," he mutters. 

\--

Things go back to normal, mostly, but there's still this weird undercurrent of tension that Bruce can't decipher, and all in all he's pretty happy that he's getting a break from everything over Thanksgiving. 

Being ridiculous and awkward and having all these  _ feelings _ about someone is fucking exhausting in Bruce's opinion. He doesn't know how other people do it, or why they seem to actually want it. 

"It's fun," Selina says when he asks her on Tuesday night. She's leaving for home early on Wednesday morning and somehow bullied him into coming over to say goodbye. (Cookies might have been involved.)

"Fun?" Bruce asks, giving her a disbelieving look. 

"Thrilling," she adds. "Life would be pretty boring if you never fell in love." 

"I like boring," Bruce mutters. 

"Do you really now?" Selina asks, kicking lightly at his thigh and he picks up a pillow and hits her with it to hide the fact that he's blushing. 

Somehow it escalates from there into a full-blown pillow fight and when the door opens to let in Barbara, Tabitha, and surprisingly Jeremiah, Bruce's flat on his back with Selina sitting on his chest, a pillow held threateningly over Bruce's face. 

"Yield, you bastard," she says, completely ignoring their new company. 

"Never," Bruce responds because it's pretty much required. 

He lifts his hands to protect himself from the pillow she's about to slap into his face, but somehow it never lands. He looks up to find Jeremiah standing by the bed with the pillow in his hand and a scowl on his face. 

"It could have gotten in his eyes," Jeremiah says, giving Selina an angry look. 

Selina rolls her eyes and climbs off Bruce's chest. It's nice to be able to breathe again and Bruce tells her as much, earning himself a slap to the arm. 

"Hey," Jeremiah says, scowling even harder, and it would be amusing if it wasn't also strangely hot. 

"Yeah, yeah," Selina says, holding her hands up. "No damaging the goods, I get it." 

Jeremiah inexplicably blushes, dropping the pillow next to Bruce on the bed. "Edward and Lucius are leaving if you want to say goodbye," he says, voice oddly flat. 

"Okay," Bruce says, pushing himself off the bed. "Have a good break everyone." 

Unsurprisingly, they won't go for that and Bruce finds himself being awkwardly hugged by Selina, Barbara, and Tabitha respectively while Jeremiah waits by the door. 

\--

Jeremiah doesn't say anything on their way across campus except to inform Bruce that he forgot his phone in the suite and it's quite obvious, even to Bruce, that he's sulking. 

"They would have hugged you too, if you asked," Bruce points out. 

Jeremiah gives him a withering look. "Sure," he says. "I bet they're real hug-machines."

Bruce shrugs. "They're girls," he says and to him, that explains everything. (Except, maybe, why they're friends with him because that part's inexplicable.) 

"I  _ know _ ," Jeremiah says tightly and sometimes he really doesn't make sense at all. 

\--

Bruce is subjected to more hugs, this time from Lucius and Edward, and he can't help to wonder if Jeremiah is going to hug him too before he leaves tomorrow. It's kind of ridiculous, all this hugging because they'll see each other again on Sunday, but whatever, Bruce can deal. 

Then Lucius and Edward are gone and Bruce realizes that for the next twelve or so hours he will be alone with Jeremiah; it's slightly terrifying. 

"Aren't you going to pack?" Jeremiah asks when Bruce pulls his laptop open and settles down on his bed. 

"Tomorrow," Bruce says vaguely because he never packs before last minute.

"Okay," Jeremiah says, settling down on his own bed, and if he sounds a bit weird, Bruce decides to let it slide.

Bruce spends the better part of the evening doing homework because God knows there won't be enough of that over the weekend, but he sneaks glances at Jeremiah every now and then trying to decipher his odd silence. 

Jeremiah is  _ never _ silent like this, usually, he talks and talks and talks, filling every silence with words, but now he spends most of his time toying uselessly with his phone. Bruce doesn't like it. 

"Are you expecting a call?" Bruce asks when he gets up to brush his teeth and finds Jeremiah playing with his phone  _ again _ . 

Jeremiah startles so hard he drops the phone on the bed. "No," he says, but he won't meet Bruce's eyes. 

Bruce wonders if he should push the issue because Jeremiah is clearly weird about  _ something _ , but he doesn't want to disrupt the still somewhat fragile truce between them. 

"Okay," he says, then he adds, "When's your flight tomorrow?" 

"In the afternoon," Jeremiah mumbles. "I told you that."

"Okay…" Bruce spins his toothbrush between his fingers and stares at the way Jeremiah won't look at him. "Aren't you going to pack?" 

Jeremiah huffs and finally lifts his eyes to give Bruce an annoyed look. "I'm gonna pack tomorrow, okay?" 

"Fine," Bruce says tightly. "I don't care."

The sad thing, Bruce thinks as he heads for the bathrooms, is that he does care very much. 

\--

They have breakfast together in the morning but Jeremiah is still weird and twitchy and he checks his phone at least seventeen times. Bruce tries to ask about it again, but Jeremiah so clearly does not want to talk about it that Bruce lets the subject drop and wishes, quite vehemently, that Lucius was around. Lucius always knows what to do when someone's not okay. 

They walk in silence back to the dorm, almost close enough for their hands to brush, and Bruce gets the odd feeling that if he started walking in a completely different direction Jeremiah would just follow him like a lost puppy. He's just about to ask about it (in a roundabout way) when Jeremiah's phone actually does ring, nearly startling both of them out of their skin. 

Bruce notices that Jeremiah's hands are shaking as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he mumbles something vague about packing before he picks up his speed to give Jeremiah some privacy. 

He kind of wants to call Lucius or Edward, to ask if they have any idea why Jeremiah's being odd, but they'd probably think Bruce did something and the nasty part is that Bruce isn't entirely sure he  _ didn't _ do something. Sometimes he does things without even realizing, but somehow he doubts that he unintentionally managed to do something that led to the whole Jeremiah/phone situation. 

\--

It takes Jeremiah so long to come back to the room that Bruce is almost done packing, his duffel bag lying open on the bed with clothes spilling out of it in every direction. He still has almost two hours to kill before the car service arrives to take him to the train station and he's contemplating getting some work done when the door opens to let Jeremiah slink inside. 

It only takes one quick look for Bruce to determine that Jeremiah is very much not okay, face tight and eyes shiny, even his hair looks depressed. 

"Are you okay?" Bruce asks. 

"Sure," Jeremiah responds roughly and it's probably the most obvious lie he's ever told. 

Once upon a time Bruce would have let it slide, he was never that interested in talking about people's feelings anyway, but now he finds that he  _ can't _ . There is an actual physical need to find out what is wrong and  _ fix it _ , which is simply too ridiculous for words. 

He watches with narrow-eyed annoyance as Jeremiah sits down on the bed and folds his hands in his lap, staring off into the distance in a way that makes Bruce think he's trying not to cry. It's simply unacceptable. 

"Aren't you going to pack?" Bruce asks because Jeremiah is the type of person that packs his fucking school bag the night before to make sure he doesn't forget anything. 

Jeremiah nods, but he still won't look at Bruce and Bruce doesn't miss the way his hand's clench. Anger flares up, white-hot like molten lava, threatening to sharpen Bruce's tongue into a razor-blade, but somehow he bites back all the words spilling forward because for once he's able to recognize the fact that he's not angry at Jeremiah, he's angry for him. 

"You're not going home, are you?" Bruce says flatly. 

Jeremiah folds forward burying his face into his hands as if his neck is too fragile to support his misery. 

"No," he whispers. 

For what might be the first time in his life Bruce has absolutely no idea what to do. He just stares at the back of Jeremiah's downturned head until Jeremiah visibly shakes himself, shoulders tensing as he slowly straightens up. 

"But it's okay," he says, voice wavering. "I have loads of reading to do anyway and it'll be nice to have the suite to myself." 

Bruce stares at him. 

"You should finish packing." Jeremiah nods towards Bruce's messy bed, almost smiling. "Do you think you'll even be able to close that thing?" 

Bruce blinks, the whole thing is completely baffling. Two minutes ago Jeremiah practically admitted to not being okay and now he's trying to pretend that everything's fine, as if Bruce is suffering from some sort of short-term memory problem. It makes him wonder how many times in the past he completely missed the moment where Jeremiah fell apart and only picked up on the moment he put himself back together. 

"Miah…" Bruce starts, but he has no idea where that sentence ends, so he clamps his mouth shut again. 

Jeremiah smiles and even if it looks more real this time, it's still fake. "I'll be fine," he says. "You really should finish packing. I'd feel horrible if you missed your train because of me." 

"Yeah…" Bruce frowns and glances at his bed. "I just… I have to make a call." 

\--

Bruce steps out into the deserted hallway to make his call, leaning back against the wall next to the door that used to be the Mob Brothers's while he waits for his mom to pick up. 

"Did you miss the train?" she asks by way of greeting and he huffs out an annoyed sigh. 

" _ No _ . It hasn't even left yet, how could I possibly have missed it?"

"Oh… that's right… but why are you calling then?" 

Bruce can hear people talking in the background, probably his youngest cousins by the sound of it, and he suddenly experiences a pang of unwanted homesickness. He'd never admit it but life always seems a little easier in his mother's kitchen, even when there's nothing wrong with life away from it. 

"I… uh…" Bruce trails off. He was all set to tell his mom that he was going to stay at school with Jeremiah but somehow he can't bring himself to say it. 

"Is everything okay?" she asks, voice softening, and the noise in the background cuts off as if she moved somewhere private to talk. "Is it Jeremiah?" 

Bruce's face flushes hot, he didn't realize he talked about Jeremiah often enough for his mom to pick up on it, but then his mom rarely misses  _ anything _ .

"Yeah, he's… He's not going home. He's… Mom, he's not  _ okay _ ." 

Bruce bites down hard on his lower lip and feels woefully inadequate. 

"Oh, sweetie," she sighs, and it says something that Bruce doesn't even protest the nickname. "Do you want to bring him home?" 

"Can I?" Bruce asks and he absolutely hates the way his voice almost wavers. 

His mom chuckles softly. "Of course, honey. I'd love to meet him. I'll see what I can do about tickets and call you back, okay?" 

Bruce takes a deep breath. "Thanks, mom. I… uh… Iloveyou." 

He says it fast, so it won't be so horribly embarrassing, but it is anyway and somehow it's all Jeremiah's fault. Why did he have to sneak into Bruce's life and turn it upside down and inside out? Why did he have to make Bruce the kind of person that talks about his feelings? 

"Oh," Bruce's mom says, voice all soft and full of wonder. "I love you, too, honey." 

Bruce blushes and mutters something grouchy, but he can't help the stupid smile that stretches his lips as he hangs up.

\--

Jeremiah's pretending to read when Bruce walks back into the room and Bruce lets him be for the time being. After all, he can certainly relate to  _ not _ wanting to talk about his emotions, even if he's apparently turning into someone who sprinkles feelings around like candy. He finishes packing his bag instead, and even goes as far as putting everything else back into the closet nice and orderly instead of throwing it in there in a hopeless tangle. He's just about to shove his laptop into his backpack when his mom calls. 

"Yeah," Bruce says by way of greeting, trying to juggle the laptop and the bag one-handed. 

"I managed to book him onto your ticket," his mom says. "So it'll be the same booking number you already have." 

"Okay," Bruce says, shoulders relaxing slightly. 

"Because you do have it, right?" 

"Yes." It's written down on a slip of paper and stuffed in his wallet like she told him to do when she made the original booking. 

"You better write it down again just in case." 

Bruce rolls his eyes but abandons the bag, for now, to hunt down a slip of paper. She gives him the number and he dutifully writes it down and then repeats it back to her twice before she's satisfied. 

"See you soon," she says. 

"Yeah," Bruce mutters gruffly because he's pretty sure he has reached his emoting quota for the day. 

He disconnects the call and drops his phone next to his duffel bag on the bed. 

"Pack your bag, Miah," he says flatly. 

"What?"

Bruce turns around to give Jeremiah an annoyed look. "I said pack your bag."

Jeremiah blinks. "Why?" 

"You're going home with me." 

Bruce tries to say it matter-of-factly as if it's no big deal, but he's not sure it comes out that way. 

"You're taking me home?" Jeremiah asks, cheeks pinkening, and Bruce doesn't know if he likes the way Jeremiah says it, because he's making it into a big deal, Bruce can tell. 

"Yeah," he says curtly. "Pack your damned bag or we're going to miss the train." 

"Okay," Jeremiah says meekly, but there's this smile curling his lips that Bruce can't read. 

"It's not a big deal," Bruce says defensively. 

"Okay," Jeremiah says again, but Bruce can tell he doesn't mean it. 

\--

It is a big deal. 

Somehow it doesn't hit Bruce until they're almost there that he's taking Jeremiah home to see his family. Jeremiah will meet his mom and his dad and his aunts and uncles and cousins and old friends and Alfred because Thanksgiving in the Wayne household is  _ huge _ . They're going to interrogate Jeremiah, and tell him embarrassing stories from Bruce's childhood, and, oh God, his mom will bring out the baby pictures. 

And the worst part is that they will take one look at Bruce, one look, and they'll  _ know _ like they knew when Bruce was ten and had a crush on the girl next door even though he never said a single word about it. 

Bruce's entire family will know that he's ridiculous about Jeremiah, they'll know that he's gay, or bi, or pan, or whatever, and Bruce never even considered the implications of coming out. 

"We could always get off the train at the next station and stay in a seedy motel over the weekend," Bruce suggests, giving Jeremiah a sideways look. 

"Oh…" Jeremiah pulls at the hem of his shirt without looking at Bruce, shoulders tensing. "I could… I could go back if you… I mean… It's…" He trails off, turning his head to stare determinedly out the window. "It's okay if you changed your mind." 

Bruce stares at him, because in what universe is it okay to drag someone on a train and then  _ send them back _ ? Bruce might be in the middle of a quiet freak out but he's not a monster, okay? 

"Jesus Christ, Miah," he hisses. "What is fucking wrong with you?" 

Jeremiah flinches. "I… uh…" 

"It's not fucking okay to drag someone with you and dump them there and no one… no one should ever do that to you. You shouldn't  _ let _ anyone do that to you, okay? You're… you're worth more than that." 

Bruce clamps his mouth shut and silently sulks because at the rate he's going, they won't even have to  _ look _ at him. It's pretty hard to keep sulking though when Jeremiah turns back to face him with this huge shy smile on his face. 

"You have feelings all over your face," Bruce informs him sourly. 

Jeremiah smiles even wider and bumps his shoulder against Bruce's in a way that makes Bruce's own lips stretch into an answering smile even if he tells them not to. 

"You like my feelings," Jeremiah says. 

"Your feelings suck," Bruce mutters. 

Jeremiah's startlingly loud laugh makes Bruce's cheeks heat up for some reason and he shoves his elbow into Jeremiah's side just to show much he doesn't appreciate it. 

"Asshole," Jeremiah says, shoving Bruce back, but he sounds more fond than upset. 

Bruce spots his mom through the window as the train pulls up to the platform, standing a little to the side in a flowery dress and one of the huge wrap-around wool cardigans she favors. 

"That's my mom," he tells Jeremiah, pointing at her. "The one who's wearing a whole sheep farm." 

"She looks nice," Jeremiah says earnestly, but Bruce sees the way his hand's fists nervously on his lap. "It's Martha, right?"

"Yeah," Bruce says, as he pushes himself up to grab his bag from the overhead compartment. He wants to reassure Jeremiah because his mom  _ is _ nice, but before he can get the words out he's being jostled along toward the exit and he cranes his neck to make sure Jeremiah's coming, too. 

It's cold outside compared to the stuffy heat of the train and Bruce shivers as he steps to the side to let people pass by as he waits for Jeremiah to join him. Jeremiah is the last person to disembark with his carry-on bag clutched in a white-knuckled grip and the stupid green scarf wrapped three times around his neck, picking his way carefully down the steep stairs. 

They look like they come from different worlds, Bruce thinks, as he grabs Jeremiah's elbow to steer him in the right direction.

"Welcome home boys," Bruce's mom says as they step up to her, her eyes flitting lightning-quick over the way Bruce's fingers are still curled around Jeremiah's elbow. Bruce drops his hand as if Jeremiah's coat just burned him, but he knows it's too late when his mom steps forward to hug him, squeezing him hard around the ribs. 

"My beautiful boy," she whispers against his ear, squeezing him harder for a moment before she lets Bruce squirm out of her embrace, flushed and embarrassed. 

"And you must be Jeremiah," she says, grabbing Jeremiah in a hug he clearly wasn't expecting, whispering something to him, too, something that makes him blush and squirm. 

" _ Mom _ ," Bruce says reproachfully, tugging her away from Jeremiah. "Don't embarrass him." 

Jeremiah ducks his chin and shifts his feet, looking overwhelmed but in a happy kind of way. "It's okay," he murmurs, cheeks flushed. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Wayne." 

Bruce's mom laughs and reaches out to ruffle Jeremiah's hair. "Please call me Martha," she says. 

"Mom," Bruce groans, pulling her away again. "If you're gonna be like this we're gonna get on the next train back to school." 

"Oh, hush now," she says, grabbing both of them around the shoulders and steering them towards the exit. "You know you love it." 

Bruce glances at Jeremiah who's furtively trying to fix his hair while still smiling in that tentatively pleased but completely overwhelmed way, and thinks that maybe they will. 

\--

The Wayne household is in complete disarray when they arrive; there are cars spilling along the driveway to line the street and inside the house chaos rules. Bruce barely has time to kick off his shoes before he finds himself in the middle of a cousin group-hug that smells like vanilla and pumpkin spice, all the female cousins jostling for the best hug position while Jeremiah watches wide-eyed from the doorway. 

"Get off me," Bruce grouches, trying to wriggle away. "You're getting girl cooties all over my shirt." 

Sarah laughs and plants a smacking kiss against his cheek that Bruce wipes away with the back of his hand. "Ugh," he says. 

Then Nina, or maybe Audrey, spots Jeremiah and before Bruce can stop them they're hugging him, too. 

"What is wrong with you?" Bruce asks, pulling Audrey away. "I know for a fact you weren't raised in the monkey cage." 

Nina laughs and says, "Introduce us to your  _ friend _ ," in a way that makes Bruce want to punch her in the nose. 

"I'm Jeremiah," Jeremiah says shyly, and they coo over him in a way that is frankly unbearable while Jeremiah's cheeks blush bright red. 

"Holy shit, he's hot," Sarah whispers into Bruce's ear, elbowing him in the side. "I didn't know you had it in you." 

Bruce huffs and elbows her back, but he can't help the way his stomach squirms happily. He's been home for less than five minutes, but it seems he's already out of the closet and getting praised for it. They're getting it all wrong, of course, but Bruce kind of hopes that they won't be wrong forever. 

\--

It takes almost half an hour to get through the living room and up the stairs to Bruce's room because  _ everyone _ demands hugs and everyone wants to fondle Jeremiah. It's only a timely intervention by Bruce's mom that finally lets them escape up the stairs with their bags. 

"I'm sorry about them," Bruce mutters, as he leads the way down the hallway toward his room. "They're insane." 

"It's cool," Jeremiah says, but he sounds a little shell-shocked. 

"Uhm, so this is it," Bruce says, pushing the door to his room open.

Bruce's room is basic, a big bed, a bookshelf, a desk along the far wall below the window and a closet. And his mom appears to have set up a cot for Jeremiah.

Jeremiah hovers uncertainly just inside the door until Bruce gestures for him to come fully inside and close the door before someone comes upstairs to bother them again. He looks around furtively, eyes flitting over the indigo blue comforter covering Bruce's bed.

"It's nice," he says. "I like it." 

Bruce shrugs, and wonders, idly, what Jeremiah's room looks like. He imagines it being much smaller.

Jeremiah sits down gingerly at the bottom of Bruce's bed, keeping his bag between his knees. 

"I… uh… I had a fight with my mom," Jeremiah continues. "And… I mean I always fight with my brother, but...um… she…" He makes a face. "She wants me to apologize but I won't…." Jeremiah looks up suddenly, eyes fierce. "I refuse to." 

"Good," Bruce says because in his opinion Jeremiah apologizes way too much. 

Jeremiah's cheeks flush and he stares down at the floor. "She wants me to apologize for who I am," he mumbles. "She found something out about me and now she wants me to… I don't know… Change? But I can't do that because… it's… I… I  _ can't _ ." 

Bruce's heart thumps hard against his ribcage, fast enough to make him feel dizzy, and he stares at the dejected slump of Jeremiah's shoulders. 

"Is that why you changed schools?" Bruce asks because he always wondered why Jeremiah transferred so late, but he never found a good moment to ask. 

Jeremiah nods. "Partially, but… uh… It's because… uh… Bruce, I'm…" He flushes crimson and pulls hard enough on the address tag to make it come off in his hand and Bruce can guess what he's going to say, but he wants to hear it out loud,  _ needs _ to hear it. 

"I'm gay," Jeremiah finishes on a whisper and Bruce's stomach flip-flops in a weird way that makes him worry about throwing up. 

"I know I should have told you," Jeremiah plows on. "Back when I moved into your room but I figured since Lucius is gay and Ed is...Ed...you wouldn't have a problem and then… I never… there was never a good time and… I didn't want to…" He trails off, scrubbing a hand over his face. " _ Shit _ . I'm sorry, I should have just… I couldn't have picked a worse time and you probably regret bringing me home now but please don't hate me… because… I…  _ Fuck _ ." 

"You what?" Bruce asks, breathless and dizzy. 

"I really like you," Jeremiah whispers, too soft, almost, to be heard. 

Bruce's palms feel sweaty, and his face is flushed, and his heart is galloping through his chest like its training for the Kentucky Derby, but he's not going to… he has to be sure. 

"Like… in a gay way?" he asks roughly. 

Jeremiah flinches and curls in on himself, nodding miserably. "I'm  _ sorry _ ," he says. 

"Okay," Bruce says, sucking in a deep breath. "Okay. First, you have to stop apologizing for everything, it's not… you're fine, however, you are. You can apologize if you like… hurt someone… but you're not allowed to apologize for being you anymore, okay? You have to stop that."

Jeremiah nods but he looks a lot like he thinks that Bruce's going to ask him to jump out the window next and that is simply not acceptable. 

"And… uh… second, me, too… or maybe I'm bi, or pan, or whatever, but, yeah, I'm pretty gay about you." 

Bruce has a distinct feeling he's doing this all wrong and his cheeks are burning so hot he thinks he might be in danger of spontaneous combustion, but the way Jeremiah looks up at him, eyes huge and shiny and mouth slightly open, makes him hope that maybe he's doing it a little bit right. 

"And third…" he continues, staring back at Jeremiah, "I'm pretty sure my entire family already thinks that you're my boyfriend and that would probably be a whole lot less awkward if you actually were… um… my… you know… whatever."

Bruce trails off and waits for some kind of input from Jeremiah's side of the room but Jeremiah is still just staring at him in a way that makes Bruce feel acutely uncomfortable because he just doesn't know what it means. 

"It's okay if you don't want to," Bruce offers gruffly with flaming cheeks and a tight ball of  _ something _ at the pit of his stomach. His entire body itches to turn away from Jeremiah, towards the desk and the computer he hasn't touched since summer. He literally wants nothing more than to disappear into a world where everything makes sense.

But he doesn't, because for once in his life he has something that is more important, more important than everything, and he can't afford to fuck it up by being, well, himself. 

"I guess what I'm saying is…" Bruce forces the words out past the sudden lump in his throat. "I really like you, too." He takes a deep breath. "In a gay way." 

Jeremiah crumbles, that is really the only word for it. He folds forward suddenly, hands coming up to catch his face, and he lets out this tiny broken noise, shoulders shaking, and Bruce can't even tell if he's laughing or crying, and he certainly doesn't know what to do. For a wild vaguely horrifying second he seriously considers just turning his back on the entire situation, but then his stupid reckless, probably-gonna-finish-last-in-the-fucking-Derby heart has him spilling out of the chair and crawling across the floor in the most undignified manner there ever was. 

"Miah please," he says and now he's the one that sounds broken and the entire thing is just a mess of feelings that Bruce is ill-equipped to handle. 

Then he's at Jeremiah's feet, shoulder to shoulder with his stupid bag and he reaches up to pull Jeremiah's hands away from his face. 

"Please," he says again, feeling stupid and breathless and Jeremiah's face is wet and his eyes rimmed with red and Bruce just wants to make him all better. 

"We can… we can pretend it never happened," Bruce says, words tripping all over each other. "I don't… I don't want that, but we can… if you… if that makes you okay because this is… this… I'm doing this all wrong but I'm really trying Miah, I am because I just… fuck… I just like you so very much." 

It almost hurts to admit it; it makes Bruce's throat feel raw and his stomach aches, but somehow he thinks that maybe he's been moving towards this very moment since that night he invited Jeremiah into their room. 

"I'm okay," Jeremiah whispers, voice raw and choked. "Bruce, I'm… I just don't know how to… I can't…" 

Bruce waits for the inevitable let down, bracing himself for the emotional blow with his fingers still wrapped tight around Jeremiah's wrist. 

"You want to be my whatever," Jeremiah says and his eyes spill over again. "I can't… Bruce, that's…."

Bruce almost ruins it, the razor-sharp barb forming at the tip of his tongue because he just can't take the suspense, but then Jeremiah's breath hitches and his lips pull into a helpless smile and he hiccups," I'm just…so...o… ha…happy." 

Jeremiah pulls his hands free to wipe furiously at his face but the tears keep spilling over, painting wet tracks down his flaming cheeks. He's beautiful, Bruce thinks, and he pushes himself up to kiss Jeremiah squarely on the mouth. His lips are slick with spit and tears and probably snot and it's pretty disgusting but when Bruce sits back on his haunches he licks his lips anyway, smiling helplessly. 

Jeremiah smiles back, wiping at his eyes again, and everything is a mess but it's the kind of mess that makes Bruce's heart feel full. He shifts around until he's sitting with his back to bed and his legs stretched out, shoulder to knee with Jeremiah's leg. He knots his hands in his lap and smiles stupidly at nothing at all. 

After a moment Jeremiah pulls his bag away and slides down to sit next to Bruce, his long legs stretching out alongside Bruce's. 

Bruce looks at Jeremiah's hands and the weird way he put his right one palm up against his thigh, almost as if he's waiting for something. He sneaks a glance at Jeremiah's face, but he's looking in the other direction, flushed all the way down to the collar of his shirt. Bruce looks at his hand again and after a moment he tentatively puts his own palm on top of it. 

Jeremiah's fingers immediately curl around his and Bruce smiles so widely his cheeks actually hurt, because he got it right. Their hands are warm and damp and it's probably ridiculous to sit on the floor and hold hands as if they're eight not eighteen, but Bruce doesn't even care because there's this warmth blossoming in his chest and little tendrils of happy growing in his stomach and  _ he's holding Jeremiah's hand _ . 

Of course, that's when his mom opens the door with a complete lack of respect for personal privacy that Bruce should have expected and cut off at the ankles by locking the door. 

"Oh," she says, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry for interrupting." She doesn't sound sorry at all. 

Jeremiah tries to pull his hand back, but Bruce tightens his fingers, holding on. He has no doubt whatsoever that she already noticed anyway. 

"Did you want something?" Bruce asks, pointedly polite. 

"Just…" She looks at their linked hands, Bruce can almost feel her gaze. "Dinner's in fifteen minutes." 

"Okay," Bruce says, giving her a look that is supposed to communicate his intense desire to be alone with Jeremiah right this very second, but either she doesn't get it or she doesn't care because instead of going away she comes inside. Bruce's horror knows no bounds. 

"Is everything okay?" she asks, voice kind, but she's not looking at Bruce. 

"I'm fine," Jeremiah says, voice only cracking a little. "I'm…" He pulls on his hand again and this time Bruce lets it go. "I'm good." 

Jeremiah wipes at his face again and Bruce's mom does her I'm-so-concerned-about-you look and Bruce wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

"Are you sure?" she asks. 

"Yeah… yeah. I'm sure," Jeremiah says. "I'm… I'm just a bit… overwhelmed." 

He sounds embarrassed and Bruce resolutely fumbles for his hand again, holding it tight when he finds it, because… because he wants to, okay? He liked the part where it was just the two of them holding hands and being ridiculous. He wants to go back to that part. 

"Well, if you're sure…" 

"I am," Jeremiah says quickly. "Really, really sure." 

"Okay then…" 

Martha gives Bruce a warm smile that he completely ignores because she's being a life-ruiner.

"Don't think we won't talk later," she says, eyes narrowing slightly. 

"I can barely wait," Bruce deadpans. 

It's worth it for the way Jeremiah stifles a scandalized giggle and squeezes Bruce's fingers. 

\--

It's a bit awkward to be alone with Jeremiah again, especially when Jeremiah mutters something about the bathroom and disappears out the door, because then it's just Bruce and he really doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts right now because they're  _ ridiculous _ . He solves that by picking himself off the floor and waiting for Jeremiah in the hallway, trying to not stare creepily at the bathroom door. 

Noise wafts up the stairs; voices, laughter, occasional cries from his younger cousin. Last year Bruce spent most of his time camped out in his room with his computer because he enjoys family togetherness best from afar, but this noise has been a constant companion during every family holiday he can remember. It's the sound of family, of  _ home _ and now Jeremiah gets to share that with him. It's kind of weird but in a good way. 

The bathroom door opens and Bruce looks up to watch Jeremiah walk out. He looks put together in his skinny jeans and a fitted t-shirt, but his mouth is still red from crying and his hair is wet along the hairline as if he splashed water on his face. 

"You okay?" Bruce asks awkwardly because suddenly he feels stupid and tongue-tied. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah says, smiling at Bruce in a way that he doesn't understand at all. 

Jeremiah walks closer and Bruce doesn't move away, watching Jeremiah approach with his heart banging and his mouth suddenly dry. Jeremiah looks so sure of himself, as if he knows exactly how to do this while Bruce doesn't have a fucking clue. The only experience Bruce has to fall back on is Selina and in retrospect maybe their relationship wasn't exactly the standard he should strive for and also, she is a girl. He's sure the rules are different somehow when it's a boy. 

"You look terrified," Jeremiah says, still smiling that funny little smile. 

"I am," Bruce mutters, cheeks heating up. 

Jeremiah smiles even wider and darts a look around before he leans forward to brush their lips together. He straightens up again and Bruce instinctively reaches out to grab his shirt. 

"I don't know how to do this," he confesses. 

"That's okay," Jeremiah says, lifting his shoulder in a half shrug. "We'll figure it out together." 

"Okay," Bruce says, biting down on his lower lip. "That sounds… good." 

They smile stupidly at each other and Jeremiah's stomach is warm against his knuckles and everything is perfect for five seconds, then Bruce's mom yells for them from the bottom of the stairs and they jump apart as if they'd just been caught making out. Jeremiah laughs nervously and Bruce scrubs a hand over his flaming face and everything is decidedly awkward. 

"We should probably…" Bruce says, jerking his head towards the stairs.

"Mhmm," Jeremiah agrees, nodding profusely, and they head downstairs. 

\--

Dinner isn't awkward, which comes as a great surprise to Bruce who had been expecting awkwardness off the charts. Jeremiah is a bit tongue-tied at first, his knee pressed firmly against Bruce's under the table, but he soon warms up, answering questions left and right with his usual sweetness while Bruce shovels food into his mouth and listens intently to all of Jeremiah's answers. 

He would berate his entire family for pestering Jeremiah, but he finds that there are a lot of things he doesn't know about Jeremiah and he wants to know them all, even the pointless parts. It doesn't matter that Jeremiah had his appendix removed when he was five, or that he was ten when he first moved to Kansas City, but Bruce still clutches these new pieces of information to his chest as if they're a string of precious pearls and he's the pearl-clutching type. 

"So how did you meet?" Audrey asks, waving her fork in their general direction. 

"At school," Bruce says quickly, rolling his eyes. 

"Bruce saved me actually," Jeremiah adds because he's a dumbass, and soon the entire embarrassing story is out in the open. 

"I hate you," Bruce mutters, tearing viciously into a piece of bread. He did not need his family to know just how ridiculous he is about Jeremiah; it's enough that they already guessed. 

"That's not even the best part though," Jeremiah continues, completely unperturbed, and within minutes they know about the Halloween incident, too. It's a cute story when told by Jeremiah, but still  _ embarrassing _ . 

"I can't believe you dressed up," Sarah says, and there's something weird in her eyes when she looks at Bruce across the table. 

"Someone had to save him from himself," Bruce says sourly, trying to pretend he's not blushing a particularly glowing shade of crimson. 

"He was amazing," Jeremiah says, voice all soft and full of wonder, and Bruce blushes some more. Any second now his mom will throw that baby picture of Bruce in chaps, a cowboy hat, and  _ nothing _ more on the table and this will officially be the most embarrassing night of his life. 

"And I still haven't gotten a single call from Principal Bullock," Bruce's mom says, reaching across the table to pat Bruce's hand. "I'm proud of you, baby." 

"Mom," Bruce whines, but of course she ignores him. This was such a terrible idea. 

\--

After dinner they end up in the living room and of course Bruce's mom shows Jeremiah  _ that _ picture, and of course his cousins regale Jeremiah with his most embarrassing childhood stories like that time he hit Nina with a pillow over the head just because he liked comforting her, and Jeremiah laughs in all the right places, and coos over baby Bruce, and generally looks like he's having a fantastic time so Bruce can't even  _ mind _ . 

After thirty minutes of nonstop embarrassment, Bruce gives up and goes into the kitchen to help his dad with the cleanup. He realizes that this might have been a tactical error on his part the moment his dad spots him. Suddenly his stomach is full of nervous butterflies. 

"Help me dry," Bruce's dad says, holding out a towel, and Bruce cautiously approaches the sink. 

There's a mountain of dishes already on the dish rack while the dishwasher chugs away and if Bruce got to choose, the leftover dishes would wait in the sink until the washer was done, but Bruce doesn't get to choose, and his dad is nothing if not neat. 

Bruce's dad hands him a glass and Bruce dutifully starts drying it, wiping the towel quickly over the wet surface, as if drying faster will get him out of the uncomfortable conversation he knows is about to come. 

"You like him," Thomas says, giving Bruce a sideways smile. 

Bruce shrugs, but he's pretty sure the way he blushes totally calls his bluff. "He's okay," he says flatly. 

"Yeah," Thomas agrees. "He is." 

Bruce waits for a couple of beats but nothing more seems to be forthcoming. "Was that your version of fatherly approval?" he asks, eyes narrowing. 

"Always knew you were quick on the uptake," Thomas shoots back, reaching out to ruffle Bruce's hair with a wet hand before he can pull away. 

Bruce feels almost disappointed. "You don't care that I'm…" he trails off, biting nervously at his lower lip. 

Thomas actually looks disappointed at that, as if he's hurt by the mere notion. "You thought I would?" 

"I don't know," Bruce admits. "It's… I don't know." 

"Do you care?" 

Bruce thinks it over for a moment. "No," he finally says, almost surprised when he realizes that it's true. 

"Then it's all good… or did you want an updated version of the sex talk? Because I can certainly do that."

"God, no," Bruce says, eyes widening. 

Thomas smirks. "Be careful, use condoms, keep it  _ quiet _ ." 

"Dad," Bruce whines. "We're not even… I mean… Shut  _ up _ ." 

Thomas laughs and pulls him into a one-armed hug, and it's embarrassing but Bruce supposes it's pretty nice, too. Everyone's dad should be more like his dad; he's certain the world would be a better place that way. 

"IloveyouDad," he mumbles into his dad's shirt because he said it to his mom earlier and there needs to be a certain symmetry to these things. 

Thomas pulls away and gives him a wide-eyed look that is made entirely of sap. "I love you, too," he says gruffly, and for a horrifying moment Bruce thinks that he's actually going to cry, but then he laughs again and shakes his head and says, "I think he's a lot more than  _ okay _ ," and Bruce is simply never going to stop blushing. 

\--

Bruce barely makes it into the living room before he's cornered by his mom and treated to another round of the  _ talk _ . She drags him into his dad's office, sits him down on a chair and interrogates him about his  _ intentions _ . 

"Mom," he complains. "I'm not a villain." 

"Of course not, darling," she says, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I just don't want you boys to hurt each other."

Bruce presses his lips together and thinks about Jeremiah kissing him and taking it back and the horrible weeks where they were barely even friends. 

"That's life though, isn't it?" he says. "Sometimes you end up hurting people even if you don't want to." 

"Yeah," she says, giving him a peculiar smile. "You're right."

Bruce can tell something mushy is forthcoming and he almost covers his ears, but in the end, it isn't so bad. He blushes, of course, and stutters a couple of times, and wonders why both his parents seem to think he's a sex fiend, but it's okay. His mom seems so happy to finally be able to give him a real talk that he supposes it worth the embarrassment. It would be infinitely worse, he thinks, if no one wanted to give him the talk at all. 

\--

Jeremiah's yawning when Bruce is finally allowed to return to the living room, mouth politely covered by his hand, and he looks about as tired as Bruce feels. This morning in their dorm room feels like it was years ago rather than hours, and dinner rests like a heavy lump in the pit of Bruce's stomach, making his limbs heavy and his thoughts slow. 

His sisters turned some movie on, probably something ridiculous and romantic, and the lights are turned down low, making Bruce's eyelids heavy even before he claims the spot next to Jeremiah on the couch. 

He wants to ask Jeremiah if maybe he wants to head upstairs, but it just seems too obvious somehow, especially following the double helping of the sex talk he just received, so he just leans his head against the couch back and lets his eyes slip shut, stretching one of his hands out a little so that his knuckles rest against the side of Jeremiah's thigh. He's asleep within minutes. 

When Bruce wakes up, his cheek is against Jeremiah's bony shoulder and there's a small patch of drool on Jeremiah's shirt. The TV is silent, Jeremiah's cheek is against his hair, and Jeremiah's hand has fallen on top of his between them. He blinks his eyes open to find his parents watching them from the other side of the coffee table. 

"That is creepy," he grumbles, startling Jeremiah awake. 

Bruce's mom laughs and his dad smiles and Bruce blushes as if they've been caught having sex. 

"We were just about to wake you," Bruce's mom says, a soft smile on her face. 

Bruce makes a discontented noise and pulls his hand from under Jeremiah's to scrub at his face. "Creeps," he mutters. 

This is exactly why taking Jeremiah home was a terrible idea; Bruce's entire family will have ammunition to mock him with for years to come. He sneaks a glance at Jeremiah to find him blushing furiously with his lower lip stuck between his teeth. He looks like maybe he wants to apologize but can't find the words, which is just as well, because Bruce doesn't want him to. 

"Come on," he says under his breath. "Let's go upstairs." 

"Okay," Jeremiah says quickly, jumping up. "That's… let's do that." 

Bruce's mom laughs again, and Jeremiah blushes some more, and Bruce kind of really wants to hold his hand. He's getting quite fond of that, the hand holding. Jeremiah launches into a lengthy rambling thank you speech that Bruce interrupts by pushing him gently in the direction of the stairs. 

"They get it, Miah," he says. "Believe me, they're delighted to have you here." 

Bruce's parents say goodnight behind them, but Bruce ignores them, he has to draw the line somewhere. Jeremiah responds in kind, of course, and Bruce has to more or less usher him up the stairs to stop him from exchanging further pleasantries with the creeps. 

"I'm sorry about that," he mutters when they make it onto the second-floor landing. "They're a bit creepy, I know." 

"It's okay," Jeremiah says quickly. "I like them." 

He looks like he really means it, too, which makes Bruce feel oddly proud of his parents, as if getting Jeremiah to like them is some sort of accomplishment, even though Jeremiah's default setting is to like  _ everyone _ . 

\--

They take turns getting ready for the night. Bruce goes first and then he sits awkwardly at the edge of his bed in his pajamas wondering what he's supposed to do now. His mouth tastes like toothpaste, his palms are sweaty.

Should he lie down and scoot over to make space for Jeremiah, or would that be presumptuous? Are they even going to share a bed? Bruce's never shared a bed with anyone before, not since he was eight and had to share with Sarah on an ill-advised family vacation. Maybe he should move altogether, sit at his desk, maybe poke around on the computer, anything to stop looking like a Victorian virgin short of a nightgown. 

He imagines Jeremiah dressed in one of those old fashioned nightgowns, tightly buttoned at the neck, spread out on a grand four-poster bed. He imagines crawling into bed with him and lifting the gown up to find that Jeremiah is wearing nothing underneath. He's very smooth in his fantasy, suave, while Jeremiah trembles with equal parts nerves and excitement, and Bruce really needs to get a grip on himself. 

He moves to the desk, but he can't be bothered to turn on the computer, and he realizes it might seem as if he's trying to distance himself, so he moves back to the bed. Then back to the desk, and to the bed, and he's just contemplating sitting on the fucking floor when Jeremiah comes back from the bathroom. Jeremiah's not wearing pajamas, just boxer briefs, and a t-shirt, and Bruce has seen him in less but the sight is still oddly thrilling. 

He stares at the long expanse of Jeremiah's legs and wonders why he never noticed just how perfect they are before. It never really occurred to him, he supposes, to ogle another man's legs, but now that they are right there, and he can't help himself. Jeremiah's calves are lightly sprinkled with hair, but his thighs are smooth and hairless. Bruce imagines running his hand over them, and his mouth suddenly feels dry. 

Jeremiah crouches down to put his clothes down on top of his bag and Bruce tries really hard to not stare at the way his boxer briefs pull tight over his ass. He fails. Not for the first time he's almost angry at Jeremiah for being that attractive.

Jeremiah straightens up and flaps a hand in the direction of the light switch. "Can I?" he asks. 

"Of course," Bruce says, and Jeremiah promptly flicks it, plunging the room into darkness. 

Bruce hears rather than sees Jeremiah moving, his eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. Jeremiah bangs into the fold-out bed and muffles a curse before he suddenly steps on Bruce's toes. 

"Oh," Bruce says, tilting his head back to look up at the dark lump that is Jeremiah. 

"Move over," Jeremiah says, partly impatient, partly fond, and Bruce quickly crawls onto the bed, under the covers. 

The bed dips with Jeremiah's weight and then he's right there, his perfect legs brushing against Bruce's under the duvet, his face just inches from Bruce's on the pillows. 

"Is this okay?" Jeremiah asks voice barely a whisper. 

Bruce can feel Jeremiah's minty breath brushing across his face and he squeaks out a very undignified affirmative. 

"Good," Jeremiah murmurs, and then his hand is on Bruce's ribs and one of his legs is between Bruce's, and his lips, finally, are firmly planted on Bruce's. 

It's a bit weird at first. It's been a while since Bruce really kissed someone aside from the quick pecks he's been sharing with Jeremiah, and for the first few seconds Jeremiah's tongue feels like a slimy alien invader, then Jeremiah makes a noise and his other hand finds Bruce's hair somehow and everything is wonderful. 

Jeremiah's lips are full and soft, and his waist under Bruce's hand is warm and perfect. It's heady to be kissing like this on a bed that has never seen more action than Bruce and his right hand; it's exhilarating, and within minutes Bruce is painfully and embarrassingly hard. He tries to ignore it, kissing Jeremiah deeper and clutching at his waist, but then Jeremiah moves  _ closer _ and Bruce has to break the kiss to suck in a startled breath. 

His heart is banging as if he just ran three miles and his dick is curving, hard and obvious, against Jeremiah's thigh. Jeremiah doesn't move, his thigh frozen in place and his hands still against Bruce's skin. 

He dips his head slightly to press a kiss against Bruce's jaw, the fingers of his left hand pressing flat against Bruce's side. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks breathlessly, thigh twitching minutely in between Bruce's and that is probably the stupidest question Bruce ever heard. 

"Yeah," he whispers. "You can… anything. I want you to." 

"Fuck," Jeremiah gasps, his hand sliding down to curl over Bruce's narrow hip. 

Bruce bites down on his lower lip with his breath catching obnoxiously in his throat. "Have you ever…" 

Jeremiah hesitates, ever so slightly, before he responds. "Yeah, I… uh…" 

He trails off, and Bruce fights his instinct to move away because Jeremiah is allowed to have a past and it's probably beneficial for this relationship if one of them has a clue what they're doing. 

"It's okay," Bruce forces out because it is. When he thinks about Jeremiah being with someone else his stomach curdles with sour jealousy, but it's okay, too, because, well, it's Jeremiah. 

"It wasn't serious," Jeremiah says. "It was… just a way to escape my brother, cause I could spend the night with him instead," Jeremiah blows out a breath, fingers digging into Bruce's flesh for a moment. 

"It wasn't like this," he whispers, pressing his lips against Bruce's cheek. "This is… you're different and we never… you know." 

Bruce suddenly feels hot all over because he can figure out what Jeremiah means, and he prays to every deity he can think of that he'll be the one to have that eventually, that he'll be the only one to ever know what Jeremiah looks like spread open and vulnerable, and that the same will be true for Jeremiah. 

"My mom noticed eventually," Jeremiah murmurs, dipping his fingers in under the waistband of Bruce's pajama pants. "And four months later I transferred across the country and met you." 

It's probably the worst dirty talk there ever was, but then Jeremiah's long fingers curl around Bruce's dick and none of that even matters. 

"Shit," Bruce hisses, hips stuttering forward because that's Jeremiah's hand on his dick and he's going to last about five seconds. 

"Uh," Jeremiah says, fingers trailing uncertainly down the length of Bruce's cock. "Uhm…" 

"What?" Bruce asks flatly, pulling away. 

"Nothing," Jeremiah says quickly, but then his hand finds Bruce's dick again and he presses in closer rasping; "You're really fucking  _ huge _ ," against Bruce's ear and it's all Bruce can do to not come right away. 

"Seriously," Jeremiah breathes, forming his hand into a fist around the head. "It's like a tree trunk." 

Bruce knows for a fact that isn't true. He's never been the type to compare but he would have been blind to not notice he's a bit on the bigger side. He always kind of figured that part of it is because the rest of him is so small. He would argue the point, but then Jeremiah moves his hand and he carefully thought out reply turns into a garbled moan. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah breathes against Bruce's cheek. "Like that." 

Bruce really wants to be cool about it, like it's no big deal, but it only takes three firm strokes for Bruce to shake apart at the seams, coming all over his stomach and Jeremiah's fingers. 

"Oh," Jeremiah says, and Bruce is so embarrassed he wants to crawl out of his skin. 

"You told me I have a huge cock, okay?" he hisses. "You can't just say that and expect me to last." 

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Jeremiah laughs, a low, happy, chuckle puffed out against Bruce's skin. 

"God, Bruce, you're so…" He starts, but he cuts himself off in favor of giving Bruce a kiss while surreptitiously wiping his fingers against Bruce's pajamas. Bruce mutters a protest into Jeremiah's mouth, but he's not that mad about it. He's happy and lethargic and he's got Jeremiah's tongue in his mouth, which is pretty much the definition of good as far as Bruce's concerned. 

Then Jeremiah shifts and his dick is a hard line against Bruce's hip and Bruce just  _ has _ to touch it. He manages to worm his hand between them, cupping his palm over Jeremiah's hard length, but that has his arm squished between their bodies, making further movement impossible. Not that Jeremiah seems to mind, he shakes all over and pants against Bruce's mouth and makes encouraging noises at the back of his throat. 

Bruce minds though because he wants to do this right and Jeremiah's stupid quivering stomach is in the way. The solution, obviously, is to push Jeremiah down on his back and pretty much climb on top of him. 

"Bruce," Jeremiah moans and it's probably the single hottest utterance of Bruce's name in the history of ever. 

"Yeah," Bruce breathes, fumbling to get his hand in under the waistband of Jeremiah's boxer briefs. "Just a second." 

Jeremiah giggle-snorts but it turns into a weak groan when Bruce finally,  _ finally _ , gets his hand on his dick. It's a bit awkward and the angle is all wrong, but Jeremiah's cock is rock hard and wet at the tip and he starts panting before Bruce even manages a proper grip. It's difficult to work his hand and kiss Jeremiah at the same time, but somehow Bruce manages, even if he's not as much kissing Jeremiah as he is licking sloppily at his mouth. Jeremiah doesn't seem to mind; he opens his mouth wide and struggles for breath, gasping: "Your fucking  _ hands _ ," before he comes all over Bruce's fist. 

Bruce wishes the lights were on and that maybe they'd taken a little more time, because he can hardly see Jeremiah's face, let alone what he looks like when he comes and he wants to know, okay, even if it probably looks ridiculous. Instead, he has to settle for listening to Jeremiah's labored breaths as he slowly comes down from his high with his hand sticky and disgusting against Jeremiah's hip and his mouth against Jeremiah's cheek. 

He wants to ask 'was that okay?' but it seems kind of ridiculously moot when his hand is all slick with how okay it was. It probably wasn't fantastic or anything, but there was an orgasm involved so it obviously wasn't  _ bad _ .

"We should try to clean up?" Jeremiah whispers, his cheek hot under Bruce's mouth. 

"Yeah," Bruce mutters. "Uhm…"

There's Kleenex in his nightstand and they use a handful to wipe their hands and stomachs, discarding the thoroughly ruined sleepwear in a heap on the floor. Then they curl up together again but it feels weird to be without pants, and the moment Bruce shifts so that his pubes brush against Jeremiah's hip he starts blushing furiously. 

"Maybe we should…"

"Yeah," Jeremiah says quickly and they rummage around in the dark until they both find something to wear. 

Then they curl up together again and Jeremiah starts giggling and Bruce can't help but to join in and moments later they're kissing again and fifteen minutes later there's another pile of dirty underwear on the floor. (The second time is just as messy and uncoordinated as the first time, but better somehow, because they're still laughing and still kissing and Bruce doesn't feel half as uncertain.) 

"I'm going to run out of underwear," Jeremiah remark when they return to bed the second time. 

"It's okay," Bruce answers sleepily. "I have lots." 

Jeremiah doesn't answer for a breathless minute and Bruce starts thinking about backtracking because maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but then Jeremiah presses his lips to Bruce's throat and squeaks, "That would be… uhm… nice," and suddenly it's all Bruce can think about. 

Jeremiah in  _ his _ underwear, the elastic of Bruce's loose boxers peeking out over the waistband of Jeremiah's stupidly skinny jeans. The mental images alone are almost enough to get him hard again; he can't even imagine what the real deal would be like. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah mumbles, his voice a rumble against Bruce's skin. "We're definitely doing that." 

Bruce falls asleep with a stupid smile still on his lips.

 

Bruce's first thought upon waking is  _ I had sex yesterday _ ; his second is  _ Shit, what time is it? _

He blinks his eyes open to find the bed empty and the room vacated, but Jeremiah's bag is still on the floor, so at least he didn't take off in the middle of the night. Sunshine is streaming in through the window because he forgot to pull the blinds last night and the bedside alarm clock tells him it's afternoon. 

"Fuck," he mutters, pushing himself out of bed. 

He gathers a haphazard pile of clothes from his bag and dives across the hall into the bathroom for a quick shower, emerging maybe ten minutes later in jeans and a tee shirt and his hair in wet disarray. He feels terribly guilty about sleeping in and letting Jeremiah brave his family alone, but the grumpy not-quite-awake-yet part of his brain insists that if Jeremiah wanted company he could have woken Bruce up. 

He shuffles down the stairs and into the living room. Sarah and Audrey are on the couch watching some holiday program and they barely look up when he walks in. 

"Kitchen," Sarah says and Bruce grumbles something unintelligible because he figured, okay, and he doesn't need to know where Jeremiah is every minute of every day. 

Jeremiah is at the mostly cleared kitchen table with a cup of coffee between his hands, talking to Bruce's mom. Bruce takes a moment to just appreciate the fact that Jeremiah looks delicious and rumpled and like he  _ belongs _ . He's wearing a dark blue t-shirt and a silly cardigan and his hair sticks up stupidly in the back and his eyes are clear and serious. 

"Yeah, I know," he says in response to something Bruce's mom must have said. "It's just… It's really hard not to care when it's your family, you know?" 

Bruce hesitates, staring at the downturned curve of Jeremiah's mouth. He looks sad like he does sometimes when he talks about his family. Bruce's mom is good at this stuff, though. 

"Of course," Bruce's mom says warmly. "Of course you care, you should. I just want you to know that you're not the one who's wrong. There is  _ nothing  _ wrong with you." 

Leave it to Bruce's mom to pry someone's deepest secrets out of them within twenty-four hours of meeting them. He would be mad, but the way Jeremiah's mouth quirks up into a real smile is worth the embarrassment of having a horribly nosy mother. 

"Thank you," Jeremiah mumbles, his cheeks turning adorably pink. 

"Nothing to thank me for," Bruce's mom says, waving a hand in Jeremiah's general direction. "It's the truth." 

Bruce fights down his smile and pushes the door fully open, keeping his head down as he shuffles in. 

"Morning," he grumbles, sneaking a quick glance at Jeremiah who is blushing for real now before he heads for the coffee pot. 

Bruce's mom pours him a cup and adds a slight splash of milk, thrusting the cup into his hands. 

"Morning sleepy head," she says with an all too knowing smirk, sneaking a hand out to ruffle his hair.

"Mom," Bruce complains, batting at her hand, but he can't help the smile that stretches his mouth. 

He moves over to the table, taking a seat next to Jeremiah on the bench stretching along one wall. He wonders if he's supposed to say something special, or maybe do something, but he's not going to kiss Jeremiah in front of his mom and Jeremiah jumps up anyway, rendering the point moot. He doesn't go far though, just to the fridge to pull out a saran-wrap-covered sandwich on a plate, returning to the table and putting it down in front of Bruce. 

"You should eat," he says, and it's so much like things always are that Bruce's halfway through the sandwich before he remembers to murmur a thanks. 

Jeremiah bumps his shoulder and smiles brilliantly in a way that makes Bruce's stomach feel warm and fuzzy, and he drops a hand onto the bench, brushing his knuckles against Jeremiah's thigh in another, wordless, thanks. 

Jeremiah catches his hand, lacing their fingers together between their hips and Bruce eats the rest of his breakfast one-handed. 

\--

After Bruce eats, Bruce's mom sends them on a grocery run, probably more because she wants them out from under her feet than because she actually needs anything, but it's okay, because they get to take the car and Bruce happens to like driving. Jeremiah sits in the passenger seat and instead of fiddling with the radio (a trait Bruce finds annoying in  _ anyone _ ) he cranes his neck back and forth, looking around in with his huge expressive eyes. 

"It's so quaint," he says and coming from someone else it would be an insult, but he makes it sound like a compliment. "I can't believe you grew up here." 

"I didn't," Bruce deadpans. "I was raised in a basement by cybernetic robots."

Jeremiah laughs, even though the joke was lame at most, and reaches out to pat Bruce's thigh. "That explains a lot actually," he says, still grinning, and Bruce's stomach does that stupid fluttery thing it wants to do around Jeremiah and his stupid face. 

Jeremiah's wide-eyed wonder is totally to blame when instead of turning left for the grocery store at the next intersection; Bruce takes a right and drives down to the lake, parking the car in a small, almost deserted parking lot. Jeremiah looks around, a small frown appearing between his brows. 

"Where's the store?" he asks. 

Bruce feels silly all of a sudden. "I just wanted to show you something," he mutters. 

"Oh." Jeremiah looks excited all of a sudden. "Come on then." 

He's out of the car before Bruce can explain that it's really nothing special and maybe they should just go. Bruce gets out at a considerably more sedate pace and locks up the car the old-fashioned way to buy himself some time. 

"It's just a spot," he says when Jeremiah falls into step with him, bouncing slightly on his heels as if this is all terribly exciting. "It's nothing special." 

"Okay," Jeremiah says, sticking his hands into his pockets, but he still looks way too excited. 

The air is crisp but not actually cold and only the slightest of breezes flutters through the trees as they make it down to the gravel walkway around the lake. They probably look ridiculous both in their perfectly tailored wool coats, but none of the few people they meet spares them a second glance. 

The sparse sprinkling of trees thickens, casting shadows across the road, and the gravel crunches under their shoes. The bank down to the lake is steep on this side and covered in long wilting grass; Bruce stares at it intently because it's better than staring at Jeremiah. The road turns slightly away from the lake and now the trees are on both sides of the walkway, the almost bare branches stretching out above their heads. 

"It's so peaceful here," Jeremiah says, voice pitched low as if he's afraid to mess with the silence. 

Bruce shrugs. "I suppose," he says, looking for the narrow gap between the trees that leads to his not-at-all-secret spot. 

He finds it quickly, it's always closer than he remembers, and he turns onto the narrow slippery path that leads down to the lake. 

"Come on," he calls over his shoulder, carefully navigating the wet leaves covering the uneven ground. "Watch your step." 

He once cracked his tailbone walking down this path and he wonders if that's a charming story, or just dumb. 

"Shit, it's slippery," Jeremiah says, followed by the telltale thump of wrong steps and the rustle of branches as Jeremiah grabs a tree to steady himself. 

"I said to be careful," Bruce hisses because he really doesn't want to be the guy that made Jeremiah crack his tailbone.

"I am careful," Jeremiah hisses back. "But these leaves are like soap." 

Bruce grunts something unintelligible and takes the last few steps down onto even ground, turning to watch Jeremiah climb down the rest of the way. 

"See, no injuries," Jeremiah says when he makes it all the way down, grinning stupidly at Bruce. 

Bruce thinks about the tailbone incident again, and how incredibly embarrassing it was and wonders if it's maybe something Jeremiah would want to know. He decides against telling it for now and turns again to lead Jeremiah the last few steps forward to where the trees open up to reveal a rundown wooden bridge. 

There's a huge sign warning people against stepping out on it, but Bruce ignores it, carefully stepping out on the slippery worn wood. 

"Careful," Jeremiah hisses behind him, but Bruce ignores him. The wood might be old and slippery, but the construction is sturdy and the planks still years from rotting. 

He stops about halfway out because there's no use in tempting fate and after a moment Jeremiah comes up behind him. 

"Oh, wow," he says, his hands coming up to curl around Bruce's upper arms. "It's  _ beautiful. _ "

The first time Bruce made it down here he just wanted to get away for a while, but he kept coming back for the view. On a clear day like this, the sun illuminates the other side of the lake perfectly, making it look like something out of a watercolor painting, all vivid colors, and a tiny little house, casting a near to perfect reflection onto the still surface of the water. It's a bit embarrassing to admit that occasionally he actually appreciates the beauty of nature, but whatever, Jeremiah is the type to find that charming rather than incriminating. 

"Thank you," Jeremiah says quietly, bowing his head to press a kiss behind Bruce's ear, and when he straightens up he slides his arms fully across Bruce's chest, pulling him back into the softness of Jeremiah's coat. 

Bruce leans his head against Jeremiah's shoulder, allows himself a moment of complete happiness, and has the wildly insane thought that in twenty years maybe they'll be showing this spot to their kids, which is so appalling that he has to shrug out of Jeremiah's embrace to face him. 

"You make me stupid," he complains, poking at Jeremiah's chest with an accusing finger. "I think the worst things when I'm around you." 

Jeremiah grins. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment," he announces and then he grabs Bruce's finger and pulls him forward into a kiss. 

So they're definitely showing this spot to their future non-existent kids then. Bruce can possibly live with that. 

\--

They make it back to the car uninjured and this time Bruce does drive to the grocery store. Jeremiah looks almost disappointed at that as if he expected to be taken on a full tour of Bruce's childhood. In truth, Bruce doesn't have that many spots to show and he has more than reached his romantic comedy quota for the day. 

Jeremiah might be the type to frolic around outside like a gangly My Little Pony with sparkly bangs, but Bruce has always been the indoors type.

"So," Jeremiah says, grabbing a cart with a sense of great purpose about him. "What do we need?" 

Bruce consults the wrinkled list he shoved into his pocket. 

"Apples, milk, cereal, and vanilla ice cream." 

"Okay," Jeremiah says and takes off down the first brightly lit aisle. 

Bruce trails after him, watching the way Jeremiah's back moves under his coat and stupidly thinks that he can imagine doing this ten years from now. His brain is most definitely broken, the sap just keeps bubbling up through a suspiciously Jeremiah-shaped crack. It must be the orgasms, he decides, mutual orgasms broke his brain. 

Jeremiah rounds a corner, disappearing from view, and Bruce lengthens his step to catch up. His mom would be upset if he misplaced Jeremiah at the grocery store. 

\--

Thirty minutes later they arrive back at the house with their purchases and are met by complete chaos. While they were gone a whole slew of aunts and uncles and cousins arrived to help with the preparations and the walk from the front door to the kitchen takes longer than their entire trip. Everyone wants to shake Jeremiah's hand and ruffle Bruce's hair and as soon as they've dumped the groceries, Bruce drags Jeremiah upstairs. 

It probably looks bad but Bruce doesn't even care, he can only take so much of family togetherness at a time and there'll be plenty of that over dinner. It occurs to him, belatedly, that maybe Jeremiah would have preferred to stay, and he pauses with his hand still on the door handle. 

"You can head back downstairs if you want," he says quickly. 

"Oh." Jeremiah's silent for a moment and Bruce slowly turns around to find him looking a bit like Bruce just kicked him. "I guess I could… um… I mean if you'd rather be alone." 

That's not what Bruce meant at all, but he's coming to realize that Jeremiah will always assume the worst. 

"No, it's…" Bruce bites down on his lower lip. "You can stay." He winces and quickly rephrases because that probably wasn't clear enough. "I want you to stay." 

Jeremiah smiles and flushes a bit, hands fluttering at his sides. His stupid cardigan is off kilter, hanging off one of his shoulders and one of the buttons in the middle has come undone. He's pretty much standing on the pile of dirty underwear from last night and the whole room smells kind of musky and rank. It's disgusting, but Bruce wouldn't have it any other way. 

"We should probably tidy up a bit," Jeremiah says, looking around. Maybe he noticed the smell too. 

"Yeah," Bruce agrees. "We should… um… do that." 

Jeremiah finds a plastic bag for dirty clothes while Bruce makes the bed. There are a few suspicious smears on the sheets, but he figures with a spike of fire at the pit of his stomach, that changing them would be pointless. Then they both look at the fold-out bed, taking up too much of the available floor space, and exchange a quick glance. 

"Maybe we should just…" Jeremiah starts, cheeks flushing. 

"Yeah," Bruce agrees, trying to pretend he's not blushing too. 

The bed makes an unholy amount of noise as they fold it up, squeaks and clangs and a couple of thumps when they lose their hold and they both start giggling nervously because it probably sounds a lot like they're doing something else altogether, but eventually it's folded into a neat enough square to fit under Bruce's bed. The room seems much larger all of a sudden, especially when Jeremiah slides their bags in next to the bed and straightens out the striped rug. 

Jeremiah's hair is a bit messy and his face is still flushed, and Bruce can't help the way he reaches out, curling his hands into the soft cotton of Jeremiah's cardigan. Jeremiah steps closer, crushing Bruce's hands between them, and reaches out to cup the sides of Bruce's face, tilting his head back. Bruce thinks he should protest but he likes the press of Jeremiah's thumbs along his jawline and the way the rest of his fingers fan against the sides of his skull. 

Jeremiah bends down and kisses him, soft and slow, the tip of his nose brushing against Bruce's own before he tilts his head slightly. Bruce opens up willingly, inviting Jeremiah's slick tongue into his mouth and giving back in kind. Jeremiah's arms slide around Bruce's neck and Bruce worms his hands in under Jeremiah's cardigan touching the small of his back on top of his t-shirt and everything is absolutely perfect until someone knocks on the door. 

They jump apart with a nervous sort of giggle and Bruce wipes his mouth with the back of his hand twice, before he goes for the door. He's half hard and kind of hot all over, but he figures his jacket covers the important parts, even if there's nothing to do about the blush staining his cheeks. 

It's Sarah, whose lips pull into a knowing smirk as soon as she gets a good look at Bruce's face. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says innocently. "Did I interrupt something?" 

"Fuck you," Bruce mutters, blushing redder. He's pretty sure he's blushed more in the last twenty-four hours than he's done in his entire life before that. 

She looks into the room over Bruce's shoulder, her smirk widening. "Hi Jeremiah," she says. 

"Hi," Jeremiah squeaks, and Bruce doesn't have to turn around to know that he's blushing, too. 

"What do you want?" Bruce asks, narrowing his eyes. 

"Your mom sent me to ask if you want to pick up Alfred," she says, eyes going back to Bruce's face. 

Bruce opens his mouth to protest because he can't see why he has to go when Sarah is a perfectly good driver and even has her own car, but then he snaps it shut again, trying to decipher the message Sarah is very clearly trying to send him through eyebrow wiggles and eyelash flutters alone.

"Oh," he says, stomach knotting. "I… uh… sure." 

Sarah nods, reaching out to squeeze his arm briefly. "Good," she says. 

Bruce feels a bit dizzy all of a sudden and he shuts the door in Sarah's face, stumbling over to sit down on the edge of his bed. 

"Are you okay?" Jeremiah asks all concern and huge worried eyes, coming over to sit next to Bruce. 

"Yeah," Bruce says, swallowing. "I'm fine." 

The thing about Bruce's family is that they're kind of objectively awesome and accepting and Alfred, their butler whose off for the holiday, but always invited back to spend dinner with them, cause he’s family, and he's also one of Bruce's favorite people in the whole wide world and coming out to him suddenly feels  _ huge _ . 

Jeremiah puts a hand on Bruce's knee and Bruce grabs for it, clinging to Jeremiah's fingers, and the magnitude of this whole thing suddenly hits him out of nowhere. 

He's gay, or whatever it is that he is. It doesn't even matter because he's in a gay relationship with a gay man and he's not giving Jeremiah up for the world. His dad asked him just last night if it bothered him and he didn't lie when he said that it doesn't, but it will bother other people. It will bother people Bruce doesn't even know. They will have opinions on Bruce's life as if somehow they have a right to think  _ anything _ about him and his choices. 

He thinks about Jeremiah and the courage it must have taken to stand up to his mom and what it must feel like to constantly be thought of as  _ less _ for something Jeremiah couldn't even change if he wanted to. He wonders what it's really like for Jeremiah to be here, in the middle of Bruce's accepting family, knowing that his own mom won't even forgive him for being gay. 

Bruce glances at him, trying to find a hint as to what Jeremiah's  _ really _ thinking in the planes of his face, but Bruce's never been good at reading other people's emotions and Jeremiah's face tells him too much and nothing at all. 

"You don't have to tell him," Jeremiah mumbles because of course, he figured out what this is all about. "We can… I mean…" He bites down on his lower lip, looking off towards the window. 

"I want to," Bruce says simply and it's true. 

\--

Alfred lives though he rarely spends time at that house, not too far from Bruce's family home. It seems more like his house is Alfred’s home than this one, and maybe that's why he's waiting for Bruce at the front entrance. He smiles when he climbs into the car and his blue eyes sparkle and arm sharp as ever.

"Bruce," he says warmly, voice still deep and commanding. "It's good to see you." 

"Alfred," Bruce says, twisting over the console to give him a rare hug. It's awkward and the angle is all wrong, but it's good, too, familiar in a way he can feel down to his bones. 

"My dear boy," Joe says warmly when Bruce sinks back into his seat. "What did you do now?" 

Bruce thinks briefly about being fourteen and stupid, stealing money from his dad, and about being young and different and feeling like his Alfred was the only one that ever understood him. Everyone else seemed to want him to play stupid games in the sunshine and relate to other kids, while Alfred just let him be silent, and help him around the house. 

He wishes he could be back to doing that now, it feels warm, and Bruce isn't normally the nostalgic type, but the car just seems wrong for this conversation somehow, and he desperately wants to do something with his hands. He curls his hands into fists against his thighs instead and takes a deep breath. 

"I met someone," he blurts out, flushing with how incredibly stupid that sounds. "It's a boy." 

There's a brief silence, long enough that Bruce has time to squeeze his eyes shut and wonder what he will do if he opens them to disapproval. His heart is in his throat and he realizes, almost dazed, that he's trembling. He didn't even know Alfred’s approval meant this much to him. 

"Okay," Alfred says eventually and he sounds older all of a sudden, "That's… okay." 

Bruce opens his eyes and sucks in a breath, darting a sideways glance at Alfred’s face. It's pale and lined, his mouth caught in a thoughtful curve and his eyes unreadable. Bruce digs his nails into his palms and wishes he could take everything back. 

"Did I ever tell you about Burt?" Alfred asks eyes fixed on something in the distance, an old memory maybe. 

"Your old best friend Burt?" Bruce counter asks, confused. 

Burt had died almost five years ago, and Bruce remembers him as a rotund old man with a peal of big laughter, a peripheral figure in many of his childhood memories, as he and Alfred used to hang around and laugh together and Bruce would watch on.

"He was a homosexual," Alfred says. 

"But…" Bruce remembers Burt's wife in the same vague way he remembers Burt, as a figure on the sideline, not important enough for him to flesh out. 

"He was married?" A smile ghosts over Alfred's face. "Yes."

Her name was Mabel, Bruce remembers, and she had a huge bulking handbag that Bruce thought was magical when he was still young enough to believe in magic. 

"She knew," Alfred says as if he can follow Bruce's train of thought. "Maybe she was a homosexual, too. I never asked." 

Bruce flushes and stares determinedly out the window. 

"I always wished a different life for him," Alfred says. "But that's how things are done sometimes."

He sighs and Bruce hazards a look. 

"I'm happy that you met someone," he says, turning to meet Bruce's eyes. "And I'm happy that things are different these days."

Bruce thinks about Jeremiah's mom and wonders how different things really are, but some of the tension seeps out of his shoulders. He came out to Alfred and the world didn't end. It's not even about Jeremiah, he realizes; that's not why he wanted to do this, it's about himself. He wants his family to know him, the real him, and accept him for who he is. 

"I wish I could meet him," Alfred says, and the spark is back in his eyes. "He must be a very special boy if he managed to get my Bruce to talk about his feelings or, well, blush about his feelings." 

Bruce blushes some more and sputters out a protest because he's getting tired of people giving Jeremiah the credit for his personal growth (and also he's tired of blushing), but then he bites down on his lower lip and puts the car into drive and says, 

"You can." 

It's not quite like a weight lifted from his shoulders, but it's pretty damned close. 

\--

The house is, if possible, even more, chaotic when Bruce arrives with Alfred, but it's a familiar, welcoming chaos. Bruce almost gracefully accepts the hugs and kisses bestowed on him by the new arrivals, blushing at the cooing mentions of his  _ boyfriend _ right up until he realizes that said boyfriend is not to be found in the general chaos – at which point he makes a beeline for the stairs. 

"Fifteen minutes," Bruce's mom shouts after him and he lifts a hand to show that he heard. 

Jeremiah's at Bruce's desk with his back to the room and his phone pressed against his ear. He doesn't seem to notice Bruce coming into the room behind him, rapid-fire laughter and words tripping smoothly off his tongue without pause. 

Bruce hovers uncertainty in the doorway, trying to decide if he should step inside or wait outside.

Jeremiah still doesn't notice, the hard-to-read tone of his voice unchanged and his eyes trained on the window. His hair is a bit messy in the back, sticking out oddly, and Bruce's fingers itch to fix it for him.

He doesn't though, he stays just inside the door, staring holes into the back of Jeremiah's head.

Then his posture changes, back straightening, and shoulders tensing. "Jerome," he says and Bruce knows what that means at least. 

The exchange is brief, at least on Jeremiah's end. He says maybe ten words in total, all delivered in the same flat tone, but his posture relaxes slightly and the goodbyes sound jovial enough. 

Bruce clears his throat and Jeremiah jumps up so quickly he bangs his knee against the edge of the desk. 

"Ow," he says, folding forward and Bruce is at his side in an instant with no recollection of having crossed the floor. It's embarrassing how ridiculous he is about Jeremiah. 

"You okay?" he asks, curling his hands around Jeremiah's shoulder. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah says, straightening up. "I… uh… It's good. Fine."

He bites down on his lower lip, eyeing Bruce nervously. "How did it go with your…" 

"Good," Bruce says quickly. "Fine. His… uh… his best friend was gay. I… um… I didn't know that. "

They stare at each other for a moment and everything feels awkward. Bruce wants to apologize somehow but he doesn't even know for what. He can't help the fact that his family is open-minded and understanding, and he can't do anything about the fact that Jeremiah's family isn't, even if he wants to. 

"I'm glad," Jeremiah says and it sounds so formal that Bruce can't help but to laugh and then they're kissing and everything is considerably less awkward, maybe even inching towards okay. 

\--

Thanksgiving dinner is huge and loud and Bruce eats so much he feels sick with it. He ends up sitting between Alfred and his cousin Robin with Jeremiah on the other side of the table, and not for the first time he's kind of awestruck by how  _ capable _ Jeremiah is. Bruce has seen Jeremiah at his worst so many times that he sometimes he forgets that Jeremiah is not actually a wet kitten but rather a very sociable human being with much more backbone than Bruce gives him credit for. 

He deals with Bruce's overbearing family like a champion, making friends left and right and biting back whenever he's gently teased for his attachment to Bruce.

The uncertain Jeremiah from Bruce's room earlier is nowhere to be seen and when the party eventually starts to wind down, Jeremiah's on the couch talking to Alfred, looking loose-limbed and completely at ease. 

"If the hearts in your eyes got any bigger they'd obscure your entire face." 

Bruce jumps when Sarah sneaks up behind him, a very predictable blush crawling across his cheeks. 

"Shut up," he grumbles because he doesn't actually have a better retort. 

Sarah smiles, the lines of her face softening with affection. "I'm so… so  _ proud _ of you," she exclaims and Bruce finds himself enveloped in an entirely unwarranted hug. 

"Get off me," he complains, but he doesn't actually fight that hard to get away. Not even when Audrey and Nina seem to take it as open season on Bruce and join in, because maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit proud of himself, too. 

\--

Bruce drives Alfred back home and this time he gets out of the car to follow him upstairs. The air inside the house smells vaguely like a hospital or rather just sterile and unhomey

"Do you like it here?" Bruce asks.

Alfred smiles slightly. "I suppose," he says. "Your house will always be home though.”

Bruce nods, they're almost at the same height now, he and Alfred, where he used to tower above Bruce. It makes his stomach ache and he looks away quickly. 

"He seems nice, your boy," Alfred says, "Sweet."

"He is," Bruce mutters, trying to fight his instinctual blush. 

"Things are so different these days though," Alfred says, "People give up so easily." 

Bruce can feel his eyes on his face and looks up from his silent contemplation of the drab floor. Alfred reaches out, clasping his hand around Bruce's wrist. 

"I've told you a great many things over the years that I hope you remember," he says. "But I think the most important lesson is this: If you want it, if you really, really want it, it's worth fighting for and if you love someone, if you really, really love someone, it's worth making a fool out of yourself for." 

Bruce nods jerkily because he gets that and he's trying and they hug at the door tightly.

\--

Jeremiah's already upstairs when Bruce gets back to the house and after a quick round of good nights with the various family members watching a movie in the living room Bruce hits the stairs, too. Jeremiah's on the phone again, but this time he's sprawled on Bruce's bed and there's laughter dancing in his voice. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says to whoever it is. "But I'll be home over Christmas, we'll hang out then okay?" 

He laughs at whatever the response is, turning his head slightly to acknowledge Bruce. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he says, still grinning. "I would  _ never _ ." 

He laughs again and Bruce's stomach turns with something he doesn't want to acknowledge. He knows that Jeremiah still has friends in Kansas City. Jeremiah is a very likable person and of course, a move cross-country doesn't suddenly erase his past, but he can't help feeling as if he's the butt of an unspoken joke. 

"Nah, I have to go," Jeremiah says, patting the bed next to his hip. "Because my  _ boyfriend's _ back and he's a lot more interesting than you are."

Another laugh tumbles from his lips and Bruce gingerly sits down in the designated spot, wondering who Jeremiah's talking to. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jeremiah says. "I miss you, too. Bye." 

He listens intently for a second, still smiling, before he disconnects the call and drops the phone on the bed. 

"Who was that?" Bruce asks, trying his very best to not make it sound like an accusation. 

"Ecco," Jeremiah answers. "One of my friends from back home." 

Ecco, Bruce decides, is a terrible name. Jeremiah reaches out to touch the small of Bruce's back, his hand is warm even though Bruce's shirt and Bruce jumps up quickly, still feeling off-kilter somehow. 

"I should check my mail," he says. 

Jeremiah laughs. "Yeah, you should. Edward asked me if you were dead." 

Bruce freezes halfway to the desk, giving Jeremiah a quick look over his shoulder. "Did you… um… tell him?" 

"That you aren't dead? Of course."

"No…" Bruce flushes, making a vague gesture. "I mean about…" 

"Oh… I… uh… no." 

Bruce sinks down into his desk chair, reaching out to turn the computer on, and Jeremiah pushes himself up to sit against the headboard. He ends up partly obscured by the open-backed bookshelf, Bruce thinks it's probably better that way. 

"Do you… do you think we should? Tell them I mean." 

"I don't know," Jeremiah answers, curling one hand into the covers. "I guess, I mean, we'll have to, won't we?" 

Bruce bites down on his lower lip and turns around to open up a web browser, anything to not have to look at Jeremiah while doing this. 

"I guess," he mutters. "We won't be able to keep it from them forever." 

It's weird to talk about being back at school. It's safe here in their little bubble. Sure, they have Bruce's prying family but they won't make them change rooms, or make their lives a living hell. 

"You told Ecco," Bruce points out, opening up his email to deal with the inbox avalanche that surely took place in his absence. 

"Yeah, but she's… She's far away and I just… I wanted to have someone in my corner." 

Bruce swivels around again to look at Jeremiah. "You have me," he mutters with flaming cheeks. 

Jeremiah blushes, too, pulling hard on the bedspread. "I guess I do," he mumbles. 

In the end, they decide to tell Edward and Lucius when they get back to school and hold off telling anyone else. 

"Selina's going to know though," Bruce warns. "She figured out I liked you before I did." 

Jeremiah flushes some more and squirms a bit under Bruce's heavy gaze. "That's okay," he says a little too quickly. "I don't mind." 

Bruce wonders if Jeremiah is silly enough to be jealous of  _ Selina _ but he doesn't ask. It seems kind of small to be worried about that when he was maybe a bit jealous himself when Jeremiah was talking to his friend. 

"So that's settled then," Bruce says, swinging back towards the computer. 

"Yup," Jeremiah says, obviously amused. "All good." 

Bruce's halfway through his inbox before he realizes that they just had their first relationship talk and it didn't even hurt. He gives Jeremiah a quick look over his shoulder to find him curled up on his side, reading a book. His shirt has slid up a little, to reveal a strip of skin, and Bruce decides that the rest of his emails can wait. 

He already responded to the important people (Lucius, Edward, Selina, Barbara, and Tabitha) to prove that he did not actually die, which seems to have been the general reaction to Bruce not answering his emails within the hour. No one else even comes close to being as important as Jeremiah, and after one last quick look-around (the internet is still there, people on the internet are still wrong) he turns off the computer and gets up to get ready for the night. 

When he gets back to the room Jeremiah is standing by the door, his toiletry bag and pajamas already in his hand. Bruce expects him to brush past, but instead, Jeremiah snakes a hand around the back of Bruce's neck and pulls him into a kiss. Bruce's hands land against Jeremiah's waist and when Jeremiah pulls back Bruce flushes and lets them drop. 

Jeremiah smiles and darts in to kiss him again. "I like you," he mumbles against Bruce's lips as if that's somehow a secret. 

Bruce scrubs at the back of his neck and mutters, "I like you, too." 

Jeremiah flushes and bites down on his lower lip, looking generally adorable. Bruce touches his waist again and thinks about touching Jeremiah's skin, nudging him lightly toward the door. 

"Shoo," he says. "Go get ready." 

Jeremiah goes, but not before he's given Bruce another toe-curling kiss. 

\--

Bruce's in bed when Jeremiah gets back, curled up on his side under the covers. He's not as nervous as he was yesterday but his stomach still clenches when Jeremiah turns off the overhead light and lifts a corner of the blankets to climb in under them. 

The bedside light is still on casting a golden glow across the bed and when Jeremiah shifts closer, brushing his lips against Bruce's, his eyes seems lit from within. They're pretty good eyes, normally, warm and forest green, but now they seem unreal. Bruce lifts a hand to thumb gently at the corner of Jeremiah's left eye, making it flutter shut, eyelashes brushing against his fingers. 

"What?" Jeremiah asks.

"Nothing," Bruce mutters, moving his hand so that Jeremiah's eye opens again. "It's just…"

He bites down on his lower lip and feels all kinds of ridiculous, but he wants to do this right, and right means embarrassing himself, he's pretty sure. 

"You have really pretty eyes." 

Jeremiah smiles and shifts closer to kiss Bruce again and Bruce supposes it wasn't so embarrassing after all. Jeremiah's tongue snakes into his mouth and he puts his hands on Jeremiah's ribs over his shirt, feeling the ridges of his bones against his palms. He moves one of his hands lower, skirting the dip of Jeremiah's waist and curling it firmly around his hip. 

Jeremiah makes a muffled noise against his lips, shifting closer in a way that makes his dick brush against Bruce's thigh. He's hard, the line of his cock hot even through two layers of cotton and Bruce hesitantly moves his hand lower, to press it flat against Jeremiah's abdomen. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah murmurs inanely, pressing his lips against Bruce's cheek. 

Bruce sucks his lower lip in between his teeth and moves his hand again, cupping it over the ridge of Jeremiah's cock. He's done this before, they did it yesterday, but it still feels almost magical to touch Jeremiah like this. Jeremiah lets out a harsh breath, shivering all over as Bruce slowly slides his hand down the length of him, to where the fabric pulls tight over the head of his dick. 

"Bruce," Jeremiah mutters, breath stuttering in time with his hips. "That's… I like that." 

Bruce slides his hand up again, in under Jeremiah's shirt to caress his stomach and sides, rubbing the side of his thumb over one of Jeremiah's nipples and shivering with the small noise Jeremiah makes. It's breathtaking to be allowed to touch like this, freely and without restraint, and he impatiently pushes Jeremiah's shirt up to get to the skin underneath. 

"Yeah, yeah… let me…" Jeremiah sits up, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor. "Better?" 

Bruce licks his lips, pulling hesitantly at the waistband of Jeremiah's boxers. "All of it?" 

Jeremiah's blush reaches all the way down to his chest but after a moment of hesitation he lifts his hips and shimmies out of the boxers as well. Bruce stares at Jeremiah's dick, hard and curving towards his stomach, already flushed with arousal. With Jeremiah half-sitting and Bruce still lying down, Bruce's head is about level with Jeremiah's hip and his dick is just  _ right there _ . Bruce scoots forward, pressing a nervous kiss to Jeremiah's hip. 

"Shit," Jeremiah hisses, fingers clenching into the sheets. 

Bruce licks his lips, glancing upward to find Jeremiah staring at him with huge dark eyes. 

"I want to…" Bruce trails off, flicking his eyes at Jeremiah's dick. "Can I…"

Jeremiah sucks in a breath and nods quickly. "Anything," he whispers, his blush creeping down over his chest. 

Bruce is familiar with the logistics of sucking cock, of course, but the reality of it is much more difficult than it looks in porn. Jeremiah scoots down against the pillows and he settles in between Jeremiah's spread thighs, which is enough to make both of them blush and flick bashful glances at each other because  _ holy shit _ this is real life and Jeremiah's dick is in Bruce's face. He curls his hand around the base of it and licks his lips. 

"Fuck," Jeremiah breathes. "This is going to be over so fast." 

Bruce thinks that's probably good, especially after he's gotten his first taste of Jeremiah's precome because it tastes  _ weird _ (but kind of good because it's Jeremiah and Bruce  _ made that happen _ ). Jeremiah clenches his fingers into the sheets and makes a helpless noise, the muscles of his stomach jumping. 

Bruce licks his lips again and dives right in. It's  _ hard _ and he's not thinking just about Jeremiah's cock. There are all these things to think about and Bruce thinks about them a lot, to the point where he forgets that he's supposed to suck. It tastes weird, and the angle makes his neck hurt, and Jeremiah keeps squirming which makes it really hard to not nick him with his teeth. It's a mess. 

Bruce wants to make it good for Jeremiah but he keeps having to pull off to breathe and his jaw aches from the unusual strain and the whole thing is just incredibly embarrassing. 

"Don't stop," Jeremiah begs breathlessly when Bruce pulls off to breathe again and Bruce hazards his first glance up at Jeremiah's face. He's flushed and sweaty and his lips look bitten raw. His chest heaves with his uneven breaths and his eyes, zeroing in on Bruce's lips, are almost black. 

Jeremiah lifts a shaky hand to touch Bruce's throbbing lips and suddenly it's the hottest thing that ever happened. He goes back down and this time he tries to savor it – the hot hard length of Jeremiah bumping against his palate, the tremble of Jeremiah's stomach against his arm, the noises Jeremiah can't quite muffle – and it settles like a burning fire in his gut that Jeremiah is enjoying this. 

It's over really fast after that. Jeremiah lets out a helpless moan and pushes desperately at Bruce's shoulders, giving him just enough time to pull back before the first jet of come spurts from his dick. 

"Oh God," Jeremiah whimpers, curling his hand over Bruce's on his dick and making him move it, fisting Jeremiah's length fast and tight while he trembles and comes and comes and comes. So maybe Bruce isn't complete crap at this cock sucking business after all. 

Bruce crawls up Jeremiah's body to kiss his panting gorgeous mouth, rutting desperately against one of Jeremiah's lean thighs. Jeremiah moves his hands to pull clumsily at Bruce's boxers, pushing them down until he can get at Bruce's cock. It's messy and uncoordinated, Jeremiah's palm slick with his own come and Bruce's saliva, but it only takes about fifteen strokes of uneven pressure for Bruce to add to the mess on Jeremiah's skin with a muffled groan. 

He collapses on top of Jeremiah gasping for breath and Jeremiah pets his hip sleepily. It's not very comfortable; there's too much bone and not enough insulation between the two of them, but it's also the best thing ever, Bruce's pretty sure. After a moment, he levers himself off Jeremiah and flops down on his back next to him; the way Jeremiah immediately fumbles for his hand is very reassuring. 

They lay in silence for a while, probably painting a completely ridiculous picture; Jeremiah naked and streaked with come and Bruce still fully clothed but with his dick flopping out of his boxers. Bruce turns his head minutely to look at Jeremiah, Jeremiah looks back. Bruce's lips twitch and within seconds they break down into helpless giggles. 

Jeremiah scoots closer, pressing their mouths together in something that is more a shared giggle than a kiss. Bruce secretly thinks it's lovely. 

"I wish we could stay here forever," Jeremiah whispers, rolling over on his side and bumping his knees against Bruce's thigh. 

Bruce makes a face at him because he's really not that keen on moving back in with his family, but he gets it too because it won't be like this when they get back to school. 

"We'll be okay, right?" Jeremiah mumbles, spots of high color appearing on his cheeks. 

Bruce holds his gaze and tries for his best reassuring smile. "Yeah," he mutters. "We'll be awesome." 

\--

They say goodbye to Bruce's family on Sunday morning with their bags packed and ready by the front door. It's an orgy of sappy sentiment, hugs, and even tears (not Bruce's), but Bruce completely fails to be annoyed. Instead, he watches Jeremiah's face and the wonder he can't quite temper as Bruce's family embraces him one after another. 

"Be good to him," Sarah whispers into Bruce's ear, digging her bony chin into his shoulder. 

"I'll try," Bruce promises. 

Then they're at the train station and there's another round of hugs with Bruce's mom, and to Bruce's great surprise he finds himself clinging, digging his fists into his mom's stupid cardigan as if he's seven and doesn't want to leave for school. 

"You'll be fine," she promises, cupping the back of Bruce's head in her hand and squeezing his back. 

"Of course I will," he mutters tersely, breaking free of the embrace and trying to pretend he didn't just cling to her apron strings like a child. 

She smirks at him as if she knows exactly what he's doing, and he sullenly stuffs his hands into his pockets. She hugs Jeremiah next, whispering something against his ear that makes him smile and nod profusely in that very Jeremiah way of his. Bruce glares at them; he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

They grab their bags and after one last wave, they join the group waiting to board through the narrow doors. Their shoulders bump together and Bruce kind of wants to reach for Jeremiah's hand, but Jeremiah's carrying his bag and Bruce's not sure how he really feels about PDA. 

The train is loud and crowded, people jostling for the seats with bulky bags and winter coats and Bruce's more than happy to store his bag and sink down into the window seat. Jeremiah settles down next to him, a warm line against Bruce's side and Bruce relaxes slightly, rolling his head against the headrest to look at him. 

He looks just the same, like Jeremiah, like Bruce's friend, like the guy who makes sure Bruce eats. His hair is perfectly coiffed, the impossible bed head he sported this morning brushed away and tucked safely into Bruce's internal memory drive, shelved next to the way he smiles at Bruce as if no one's watching, and the way his lips look stretched around Bruce's dick. 

He turns his head to meet Bruce's gaze and their fingers brush on the armrest. 

"Hi," Jeremiah mouths. 

Bruce bites down on his lower lip. "Hi," he mouths back. 

Their fingers catch and curl, minute points of contact that makes warmth bloom in Bruce's chest. 

_ I love you, _ he thinks and it's huge and scary and the most natural thing in the world. 

The train jerks into motion and their safe haven falls away behind them, the future stretching out uncertain and unwritten. Everything will be different– no privacy, no openness, the relaxed sprawl of Jeremiah against his side and sleepy morning kisses nothing but a memory. It's been five days, but it feels like forever. Jeremiah smiles as if he can read Bruce's thoughts and moves his hand to braid their fingers together in a tight embrace. Bruce smiles back, squeezing Jeremiah's cold hand, and somehow he just knows that whatever happens, they'll be okay. 


End file.
